


A Stack of Toast

by Indygodusk



Series: Toast-verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Angst, Bad Albus Dumbledore, Character Bashing, F/M, Kidnapping, Romance, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, magical compulsion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 63,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25791247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indygodusk/pseuds/Indygodusk
Summary: During the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, something rare wakes up in Hermione while she’s trapped beneath the Great Lake. Since it would only distract everyone—especially Harry—from the greater good, Dumbledore suppresses the memory. Years later, the truth bubbles to the surface.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Series: Toast-verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918411
Comments: 478
Kudos: 665





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is a Harry Potter AU fanfic using the Sentinel Trope (Sentinels with enhanced physical senses and Guides with empathy who bond together as lovers and protectors with a bit of soulmates thrown in). It is not set in the same world as my other Sentinel stories. I wrote this for a Rough Trade Writing Challenge in July 2020 and didn’t finish there (as I’m always thinking long plots instead of short ones), but I will finish here. It will probably be 30K. [Edit: it's going to be way longer than 30K, lol!] In this story, Dumbledore does shady things for his version of the greater good. If you don’t want to read that feel free to back-click with no hard feelings, just don’t complain to me about it since you were warned.

* * *

_Excerpt from Ch. 18 of_ _Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire_ _by JK Rowling:_

_“He walked resolutely over to the portrait hole, pushed it open, climbed out of it, and found himself face-to-face with Hermione._

_"Hello," she said, holding up a stack of toast, which she was carrying in a napkin. "I brought you this. . . . Want to go for a walk?"_

_"Good idea," said Harry gratefully._

_They went downstairs, crossed the entrance hall quickly without looking in at the Great Hall, and were soon striding across the lawn toward the lake, where the Durmstrang ship was moored, reflected blackly in the water. It was a chilly morning, and they kept moving, munching their toast, as Harry told Hermione exactly what had happened after he had left the Gryffindor table the night before. To his immense relief, Hermione accepted his story without question._

_"Well, of course I knew you hadn't entered yourself," she said when he'd finished telling her about the scene in the chamber off the Hall. "The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name! …”"_

* * *

_[Several months later]_

Hermione woke up paralyzed. 

Panicking, her mind raced even as her body and magic heaved and fought to be free. Nothing worked. She couldn’t so much as twitch. In fact, she wasn’t even breathing. 

She would’ve expected not breathing to hurt, but it didn’t. She would’ve expected paralysis to mean being numb, but she wasn’t that either. In fact, she was feeling more sensation than she’d ever experienced in her entire life. For some reason that freaked her out the most. 

Since panicking didn’t seem to be helping, she tried to calm down by cataloging the details of her situation. Her body felt like it was floating, so she was in either liquid or air. Pressure pressed against every millimeter of her skin. Sound was muffled and deep in pitch. She couldn’t smell anything, which made sense without the ability to breathe. Her mouth was partially open and she could taste something fishy and powdery silt. It tipped her towards the idea of being in water. She wished she could spit out the taste, but her mouth refused to move. Nothing moved.

Her eyes were half-open so she could mostly see her surroundings. Unfortunately there wasn’t much to see. It was dim and strange shapes floated at the edges of her vision. Creatures flitted past the corner of her eye, but without the ability to turn her head to see more clearly, identifying them was impossible. 

She was trapped. Helpless. It was terrifying. However, even terror couldn’t induce her body to start panting, shaking, or sweating—though admittedly sweat would be hard to notice underwater, as would tears.

What if no one cared that she was missing? What if she was trapped here forever? What if her body started to decay and she was stuck inside feeling every second of her disintegration?

A glowing otter suddenly popped up in front of her face. Wiggling with excitement, it broke her thoughts from their tormented spiral. The otter swam in acrobatic circles around her body. It felt friendly and protective. It felt nice. Hermione slowly started to calm down. With a final loop the otter dived between her feet and disappeared from view.

Before she could start panicking again, a striped fish with stubby fins, a feathered mane, and bulbous eyes appeared in front of her face. Fins undulating, the fish turned sideways and then darted forward, trying to nibble on a strand of her hair. She tried to flinch back, but again, her body refused to obey.

Then she saw, though not with her eyes, a glowing strand of magic uncoiling from the magic coating the outside of her body and reaching towards the fish, nudging it away. The striped fish rolled a few times, swam a loop-de-loop, and zipped away into the darkness. The strand of magic returned to her body. The spell must’ve been cast by someone else because it didn’t feel like it belonged to her. She could also tell, though she didn’t know how, that the magic was connected to a potion slowly digesting in her stomach. Although she’d learned to identify the sweet tingle of magical fields moving around and through her in the years since she’d come to Hogwarts versus an area with so little magic that casting too many spells meant pulling from your magical core and risking unconsciousness or a magical fracture, she’d never sensed magic so vividly and clearly as she did in that moment. She didn’t know anyone who had.

Most who’d grown up magical couldn’t describe the presence or absence of magic at all because they were so used to being bathed in it. Ron had failed that unit in class utterly, along with a good percentage of her classmates. Those few who did manage to sense the presence and absence of magical fields described the sensation as a faint warmth or chill like a draft from a windowpane in opposing seasons. She’d always felt strong magic more as the electrical feeling in the air before a thunderstorm combined with the first taste of salted caramel. Now the magic felt like sizzling caramel lightning with distinct strings and puddles, though something still sensed more with her skin and tongue than her eyes.

Hermione found a film of magic covering her skin and coating the inside of her throat and lungs. It must be what was keeping her alive and safe under the water... because she obviously was under the water. Now she remembered why. 

She’d been in Dumbledore’s office with Ron, Cho Chang, and a young French girl named Gabrielle, the younger sister of Fleur Delacour. After being ordered by the teachers to surrender their wands and sit down, they’d been told that they were the prizes the champions had to retrieve from the bottom of the lake for the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. Refusal of the honor was not an option, though she’d tried. 

Hermione’s attempt to leave was blocked. Her loud objections over using the young Gabrielle after the girl burst into frightened tears and hid behind her hands were met with the order to calm down, stop being so hysterical, and accept their roles. A calming draught was offered but she declined, even with Professor Dumbledore’s repeated assurances and frown of disappointment. Ron had looked over at Dumbledore, heaved a sigh, and chugged his down like it was the last bottle of butterbeer at the Halloween Feast. Cho had followed his example.

One of the judges had announced—loudly over the sound of Gabrielle’s wails—that no harm would come to any of them and that they’d be unconscious for the whole thing. Madame Maxine had knelt down, patted Gabrielle on the shoulder, and gotten her to drink her calming draught. Dumbledore had looked over at Hermione, seen the mulish glint in her eye, and sighed. He’d then told them all to relax and reminded them of their duty to support their champions. 

“This will all be over before you know it,” he’d assured them with a twinkle in his eye. “You won’t feel a thing until you wake up on the dock at the end of the second task. You’ll go to sleep here and wake up with it all over.”

Defeated, Hermione had folded her arms and nodded grumpily. They’d all drank potions provided by Madame Pomfrey and then Professor Karkaroff had lifted his wand and hit them each with a mild version of a stunner.

Considering her current paralyzed but completely aware state beneath the water, Dumbledore had obviously lied. 

The water began getting brighter, enough for Hermione to see colors and identify the floating shapes in the corners of her eyes as Ron, Cho, Gabrielle, and a patch of tangled seaweed taller than her, Ron, and Harry combined. The curling strands of seaweed reminded her of Hagrid’s hair. She wondered if the other prizes were awake too. They had the same magic spell on their bodies as she felt on hers but they didn’t look awake, they looked dead. Then again, she probably did too. 

How awful.

Hermione would’ve sworn she was alone otherwise, but just then five Merpeople hiding directly in her line of sight jolted as one and dropped the spears she’d mistaken for aquatic plants. They swam together in a chaotically swirling mass before darting away into the shadows of the water on her left. On her right and slightly behind her the light got steadily brighter.

The obvious fact that they were fleeing the approaching light made her start to panic all over again just when she’d mostly calmed down. Her trust in Dumbledore’s promises to keep her safe was faltering. Hermione didn’t want to get eaten and she didn’t want to watch Ron, Cho, and Gabrielle get eaten either. 

She pushed with her magic and felt something wiggle free. Before she could celebrate the spell around her body snapped at her painfully, contracting with a stinging rush that made her sight go dim for a moment before brightening again. 

She was doomed.

The otter from before suddenly swam over her shoulder. It circled her chest and back once, darted up to pat her cheeks, and then looped around behind her head to settle its head into the crook of her neck, latching onto her robe with its claws and settling in with a wiggle. She wished she could ask it what it was doing. Nevertheless, just having it there made her feel better.

The light got brighter and brighter at her back until a shining woman moved in front of Hermione. The woman was stunning to look at, though it was impossible to say if she was overwhelmingly beautiful or overwhelmingly ugly. Nevertheless, it was impossible to pay attention to anything else. The woman’s features seemed to constantly shift. One moment she had overly-large, pebble-brown eyes and then they were small crescents of palest blue. Her lips were thin and pale pink and then wide and bold red. Her skin shifted shades between the colors of a clamshell, from pearlescent white to golden tan and pale brown. Unlike her shifting face, her hair stayed a short fuzz of moss green strands. She wore stiff robes that looked like the icy surface of a frozen pond. In one hand she held a driftwood wand and at her waist was belted a sword. 

The sword looked familiar. Very familiar. If Hermione didn’t know better, she’d say she was looking at Excalibur, the lost sword of Avalon that Godric Gryffindor had modeled his sword after some centuries later. Which would make the witch before her The Lady of the Lake of myth and legend if Hermione’s guess was right. 

The Lady of the Lake met Hermione’s eyes. Nodding regally, she smiled. 

Hermione had so many questions. So many! If only she could speak!

The Lady laughed and reached out to cup Hermione’s cheek. Her skin became faintly striped and her features bold and exotic. Humor drained from her face, replaced by fierce purpose. “You need to wake up. Wake up all of the way. I need your help protecting our people. I need you to stand Sentinel. For too long my gifts from Lady Magic to her children have languished unopened. My wells are dry, my fountain blocked. Help me, Sentinel.”

Confused, Hermione tried to make sense of what she was hearing. Sentinel? She couldn’t mean Hermione, could she? And what gifts? What help?

“Magic chose you as a protector. This land needs you. For too long it’s been without a champion. Wake up, Sentinel. Wake up.”

The Lady of the Lake reached out and touched the corner of Hermione’s mouth, sliding a finger across her lips. Deliciously fresh water sluiced into her mouth, cleansing it and filling it with magic. Something scrunched down in Hermione’s soul unzipped and unfurled. Lightning slammed through her body and coated her tongue in salt and burnt caramel, shaking her to her very foundation. Everything overloaded.

When Hermione returned to herself enough to look out instead of in, she could see everything in her surroundings as if standing under a noonday sun. The Lady of the Lake was encased in layer upon layer of magic like a snowbank composed of millions of snowflakes, but she no longer glowed with separate power. It was a power they now shared, the powerful gift given to those tasked by Fate and Magic to protect a people. The power of Sentinels and Guides.

Touching Hermione’s cheek, the Lady smiled, the edges of her eyes crinkling. “Welcome to the family, Sentinel.” Her hand moved to pet the otter lounging on Hermione’s shoulder. “You are one of the few who has come deep enough into my domain so that I can awaken your potential. My sisters and I keep searching, but few magicals linger in our natural spaces and our sacred spaces have been hidden or destroyed. I need you to fix that.”

Hermione did her best to project confusion and a desperate desire to know more, so much more. She didn’t remember reading about sacred spaces being destroyed, though several books claimed that the Lady of the Lake had stopped handing out gifts and hidden her special wells and fountains from petitioners. This definitely called for a trip to the library.

Sliding back, hand dropping to her side, the Lady looked up at the world far above where they currently floated. “Time is short, but I can tell you a little.” Her face went sad. “The years blur, but two to three hundred years ago a magical offshoot of Puritan thought briefly gained power in magical Britain. In just a few short years they turned the people against Sentinels and Guides, jealous, resentful, and disapproving of the Gifted’s greater magical power, physical connection to nature, and intimate bond with each other and magic itself. They claimed getting rid of Sentinels and Guides was for the Greater Good. Anyone who disagreed was cursed or killed. They slaughtered my chosen ones, bound my fount of gifts, and burned every building and book supporting Guides and Sentinels.” 

Ice rolled down the Lady’s cheeks and dissolved in the water. If Hermione could’ve cried she would’ve.

“By the time a new regime formed to depose them, too much damage had been done. No one even noticed a problem until too late. Now, every Dark Lord that rises in Britain makes it their first priority to destroy those rare few Sentinels and Guides we’ve managed to awake. There are so few of you left. Until we restore the Gifted en mass to these shores, the problem of Dark Lords will keep growing worse, as they have in recent memory. I’ve waited so long for a Sentinel to help me restore magic’s gift to our people. Help me, Hermione. Find and unblock the Fountain of Gifts. Britain needs its guardians back.”

Hermione wanted to help, but it seemed like such a huge task. She knew there were robust populations of Sentinels and Guides in other countries, but had assumed like everyone else that colonialism had damaged something in the spirit of the land and led to their decline in Britain. Where did she even start? And how with everything else going on right now with school and the Triwizard Tournament and Voldemort and Harry. She was a side-kick for goodness sakes, book-smart but not a front-line hero like Harry. How was she going to do this alone?

The Lady of the Lake looked over and squeezed Hermione’s arm, reaching up to scratch the otter under the chin. “Ah my dear one, never fear. To be a Sentinel means you aren’t created to be alone. Not only do you have your spirit animal here to support you in magical and spiritual tasks, you also have a Guide to bond and share your life with. They will meet this duty with you. Sentinels protect with body and mind and Guides protect with heart and soul. Your Guide would no more wish to do this without you than you would wish to do this without them. You will know your fated match when you meet them. This knowing is a gift from magic.” 

Hermione’s otter friend—her spirit animal—slid off her shoulder, bussed Hermione on the nose, and swam off.

Looking over her shoulder at her, the Lady of the Lake gave a mysterious smile. “In fact, you already know your Guide, don’t you?” 

A name jumped from Hermione’s heart to her head, but she immediately rejected it. They were just friends. Her Guide would be mated to her magic and soul, a bond more intimate than even husband and wife from what she’d read. It wasn’t logical or fair that he’d be paired with her and given a task when he already had so much expected of him. She dismissed his name from her mind.

“You’re only hurting the both of you by ignoring your instincts,” the Lady of the Lake said. Her icy robes cracked and began to melt. The arch look on her young face turned into an expression of helpless anger and her features morphed into someone old and bitter. She grimaced. “I’m being forced away. It will take me time to return to this lake so I can meet and awaken your Guide. Bring him to the waters.” The ice of her robes dissolved completely into water and foam and she began fading from view. “Until we meet again, Sentinel.” Then she disappeared from Hermione’s senses completely. 

A minute later the merpeople came swimming back, picking up their spears and tridents. They didn’t seem to notice any change in Hermione, ignoring her and the other floating people completely.

With nothing else to do, Hermione tried to figure out who could be her Guide. She was pretty sure it was a man and not a woman. A woman didn’t feel right. The most vocal choice of her heart seemed impossible. It couldn’t be Harry. He already had a huge destiny fighting Voldemort. Those two even had twin wands. No room for extra people to intrude in that except as friends and support staff. 

Besides, she had a crush on Ron, didn’t she? Almost all Sentinels and Guides had romantic and sexual bonds, so it had to be Ron, even though they hadn’t even kissed and she hadn’t mustered up more than an intellectual curiosity in his lips. Sure he put down most of her interests and they fought a lot, but that was a sign of passion, wasn’t it? And wasn’t passion a good thing in a relationship? 

The usual doubts crept in and proved a lot harder to get rid of than usual. When she tried to picture bonding to Ron as her partner and relying upon him as a Guide, she couldn’t hold it for more than a few seconds. It felt wrong. Finally she had to acknowledge defeat. Every instinct she possessed told her Ron was definitely not her Guide. No one else felt right either: not Neville, Dean, Fred, George, Cormac, Cedric, or even—thank Merlin—Malfoy, Goyle, or Crabbe.

Only one man felt like a perfect partner, like someone she could help shelter and protect as he in turn helped guide her true. The more she tried to shove it down the more the idea kept bobbing back to the surface of her thoughts. Harry Potter couldn’t be her Guide, could he? 

An amazing taste filled the water and slid over the tip of her tongue. If she licked Harry’s freckled shoulder he’d probably taste just like this. A sweaty Ron always smelled a bit rank, while sweaty Harry just got more musky and appealing.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the merpeople turned as one to brandish their spears just as Harry came swimming into view with webbed hands and gills on his neck of all things. She wondered what spell or potion he’d used. They parted to let him get to Ron. 

Harry’s face registered shock and dismay as he sped up and reached for his friend. When he looked over and saw Gabrielle and Cho his lips went tight and his eyes narrowed. Searching around, his eyes skidded past Hermione and then jerked back, going wide. 

She felt a jolt in her core. 

Harry’s face went white. He stopped swimming and sank down to the lake floor. He hit the bottom with a puff of sand. Bursting out of the cloudy water, he rushed to Hermione’s side. Even under the water, she could see his face turn to bright red rage. Before his outstretched hand could grab her arm the merpeople thrust their weapons in his face and barred his way, pushing him back and pointing back towards Ron. Harry snarled and tried to wrestle past but couldn’t get through without attacking first, a move he was obviously loath to do when they were going to such pains to stop him without actually hurting him.

She could feel the thump of his heartbeat in the water. It was familiar from countless hugs and snuggles over the years. Soothing. She touched Harry a lot. Much more than she touched anyone else actually, even Ron, her supposed crush and other best friend. It would hurt if she ever lost Ron as a friend, but losing Harry would break her. Harry was the most important person in her life. If she had to make a list of wonderful qualities, Harry would win over everyone else she knew. 

Not that he wasn’t irritating too. Harry was way too prone to brooding and self-sacrifice, not to mention his insistence on flying at insane speeds and willingness to coast in classes he could excel at if he just applied himself. No, he wasn’t perfect. However, it felt like Harry might just be perfect for her.

Which sort of settled it. If she had to bond with a life partner, Harry was the best choice. Harry was her only choice. A feeling of surety and peace filled her mind. Harry was the one meant to be her Guide and she was meant to be his Sentinel. It felt right. 

Hermione reached out for him with that newly opened place in her soul. She needed him to fill it. She needed her Guide.

Harry mouthed her name reverently, staring at her as if receiving a revelation. He reached for her, trying to get around the merpeople to no avail. Movements becoming desperate, he suddenly swung round and brandished his wand at a rapidly approaching figure that turned out to be Cedric Diggory with a bubble around his head. Cedric cut Cho loose and dragged her away. Harry glanced over at Ron and Gabrielle before trying to get to Hermione again. The merpeople still blocked him. 

A shark appeared and barely dodged a spell from Harry’s wand. The shark circled, revealing human legs and swim trunks. Hermione realized it was a partially transfigured Viktor Krum. The merpeople let Viktor get to Hermione but he couldn’t sever the rope tethering her to the lake floor. She desperately wanted to get out of here and have this spell end, but she didn’t want to leave Harry. 

Harry got Viktor’s attention and handed him a sharp rock. Severing the rope holding her in place, Viktor began dragging her up to the surface and away from Harry. The open space she’d made for Harry in her soul began throbbing as she was dragged away. 

Harry didn’t try to stop Viktor. He stayed behind with Ron and Gabrielle. Intellectually she understood why, but it felt like a betrayal, like Harry had rejected her attempt to bond with him. It hurt. Everything felt too sensitive.

When she surfaced from the lake and was propelled up onto the dock by magic, she heard screaming cheers that threatened to make her ears bleed. Water spouted out of her mouth. Magic pushed and then pulled on her diaphragm, forcing her to start breathing. Control returned to her body in a rush. Rolling over, she coughed violently, pushing dripping curls out of her face. Someone wrapped a towel around her shoulders and pulled her upright. The fabric felt like sandpaper. It was too much. Everything felt like too much.

Viktor put an arm around her shoulder as cameras flashed, filling her vision with spots. People swarmed on all sides. Dazed, she huddled beneath Viktor’s arm and tried to bring her shivering body under control. It would be better if Harry was here but he was still under the water with Gabrielle and Ron. 

A giant timer counting down hit zero and started clanging. Hermione flinched and covered her ears. 

Fleur Delacour surfaced from the water. She was alone. Looking around wildly, she started screaming for her sister in French as she was pulled up onto the dock. 

Three heads surfaced from the water — Harry towing Ron and Gabrielle. They were lifted onto the dock. Ron and Gabrielle woke up and were swarmed by family and friends. Unlike the sobbing French girls, Ron seemed completely unaffected by his time underwater. Claiming he didn’t remember a thing, he nevertheless basked in all of the attention.

Hermione kept her eyes locked on Harry and tried to balance her senses.

The judges huddled together at the end of the dock, arguing. Hermione could hear every word they said, despite the distance. A minute later, Harry went from being disqualified to being awarded points for moral fiber and in second place overall. 

Viktor was pulled aside by his outraged friends and family. He let go of Hermione to express his outrage and she let the group continue on without her. Still struggling with her new physical senses, Hermione slid back until she stood at the edge of the crowd. She needed Harry but couldn’t bear to push through the noise to reach him. 

Ducking under the bleachers, she put her hands over her eyes and pressed hard against the stabbing headache. At least it was darker down here and some of the noise was blocked. Sentinels in other countries learned how to deal with enhanced physical sensations without going crazy. She would too. There had to be books on this somewhere, in the international markets if not the domestic.

“Miss Granger, are you alright?” The concerned voice of Professor Dumbledore startled her into jumping.

Hermione found him standing at the edge of the bleachers watching her, his expression in shadows but the glittery embroidery on his hat and robes gleaming in the sun. A broken laugh fell from her lips. “No, Professor, I’m not alright. I woke up.” She hiccuped. Cold water dripped down her ear and onto her neck, making her shiver.

Dumbledore looked at her over his spectacles and moved into the shadows under the bleachers to join her. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand, Ms. Granger. You seem to have come through events as stalwart as ever, with wet robes and a new story but no more damage than that. Take heart. In fact, I’m sure your friends would love to have you join them in their celebrations. I hear there’s to be cake and pumpkin juice in the Great Hall to celebrate both top spots in the tournament being held by Hogwarts students.” Eyes twinkling, he gestured outside to the still celebrating crowd. 

If she concentrated, she could hear Harry laughing and chatting while surrounded by most of Gryffindor House. A bit more effort and she could hear his heartbeat too. It woke in her what could only be called _longing_. On any other day she’d think herself silly, but right now she was just feeling desperate.

Wringing out her robes, she gulped down a breath and forced herself to talk instead of running off to claim her Guide like some cavewoman with a club. “Professor, I don’t have time for parties and pumpkin juice. Let me be clear. I woke up under the water as a _Sentinel_.” 

Dumbledore’s mouth fell open and the colors on his embroidered sky blue and canary yellow robes flickered and dulled, confirming one of her long-held suspicions about his vanity when it came to personal glamours. 

Not that Dumbledore’s appearance mattered right now when she was in the middle of a personal identity crisis. Hermione dropped the drenched material she’d been wringing in her hands and straightened her back. “I have a task to perform to help restore my people to these shores. Magical Britain needs my help and I need my Guide. My senses are going crazy.” She rubbed at the raised rash on her wrists as her voice broke. “I need Harry.”

Eyes losing their twinkle, Dumbledore’s lips went white. Thoughts raced through his narrowed eyes. He looked down and breathed out hard through his nose, nostrils flaring. “Harry? I think you must be mistaken. Harry Potter can’t be a Guide. Perhaps young Ronald or your friend Ginevra could better help you out during this time? Or the champion who rescued you, Viktor Krum? You seemed quite taken with him during the Yule Ball.”

Hermione shook her head curtly. “I know this is unexpected, but my Guide is Harry. He must be latent like I was. I need to talk to him. I need—” the words got caught in her throat as she struggled with the empty ache in her chest and her painfully fluctuating senses. She knew somehow that if Harry was here with her everything would settle down. She needed to touch him and scent his skin. She needed to slot him into the open spot in her magic and soul. She needed to bind them together in as many ways as possible until he came Online too and they could complete their bond. 

Wrapping arms around her aching chest, she hunched over. “I need him. It hurts. I need Harry.”

Stepping closer, bringing with him an overwhelmingly pungent scent of lemon sugar, feathers, and patchouli that made her eyes water, Dumbledore looked down his long nose at her and asked in a measured tone, “You speak of your needs, but have you asked yourself if you are being fair to Harry and his needs?” He ran his wand through his fingers. “Is it fair to force yourself and your needs on Harry when he is already heavily burdened with the current tournament and his role in Voldemort’s eventual defeat?”

Feeling slapped, Hermione jerked her head to the side. She opened and closed her mouth, “I—I….” His words brought all her initial doubts rushing to the forefront of her mind. 

Dumbledore cast something with his wand, but she was too distraught to pay attention. “We can’t forget that under the lake, Harry was trying to save Ronald Weasley, not you,” he said gently. “He did not break the rules to save you even when he obviously could have, as shown by his actions with the younger Miss Delacour.” 

Hermione lifted a hand to rub at the pain behind her sternum. It was getting hard to breathe.

Dumbledore’s voice continued inexorably. “Obviously you are friends and Harry cares, but Harry cares about many people. He didn’t choose you as his most important person, Miss Granger. He doesn’t see you that way.” 

Dropping her tearing eyes, she saw Dumbledore dip his fingers into his robes and come out wearing a strange ring. He twisted the stone of the ring so it pressed against his wand, reminding her distantly that she was still missing hers. The ring smelled of alchemy, but Hermione didn’t have time to identify more than that as the Professor’s next question hit her with the force of a bludger.

“Are you going to put your needs before his? Are you going to force Harry to do what you want instead of letting him do what he needs to do? Are you really that selfish?”

Feeling sick and dizzy, she reeled. It was all too much, her overly acute senses, the aching hole in her soul desperate for a Guide, and shame at Dumbledore’s questions. She was getting so confused. Hermione hunched over and closed her eyes, unable to keep them open under the onslaught. “No, of course not,” she whispered miserably. “I’d never do that to Harry. Of course his needs come first. Harry comes first.” 

It began to feel as if she were being squeezed like a toddler with a tube of toothpaste while someone used a rough plunger to shove everything that escaped back inside. Bright light flashed harshly. It left the afterimage of an otter against her closed eyelids. Feeling that it was important, fighting against the foreign impulse telling her not to question, she forced her eyes open. 

Dumbledore stood closeby with his wand pointed at the space in front of her feet. Nothing was there except for the scent of ozone and burnt sugar. Her head hurt too much to figure out why. The tip of Dumbledore’s wand lifted to point at her chest and dark eyes caught hers with the feeling of a trap slamming closed. 

The pressure became unbearable. Hermione’s eyes clenched shut, squeezing out scalding hot tears. Her breath came in sobs. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was blood instead of water. “Please! It hurts. It hurts so much, Professor. Help me.” 

“My dear girl, I will help you. I’m so sorry, but Harry has another cause more important than you. His fate is sealed. Harry must serve the greater good. Such gifts are a variable too dangerous to introduce at this late stage of the game. Your bonding with him would only lead to your death or to him wavering from his assigned destiny, leading to the death of us all. You must trust me in this. You cannot have more from him but friendship.” 

A heavy hand settled onto her shoulder and squeezed, a biting grip that made her want to gnaw her arm off to escape. “I trust that you will do your best to continue to protect and stand Sentinel over Harry no matter your relationship. You’ve shown that clearly every year you’ve attended Hogwarts. I think it is for the greater good that you go back to being latent and forget this ever happened.”

“What? No!” Hermione cried, trying and failing to open eyes that felt lashed down more securely than a dragon. The refusal took all her strength. A strange lassitude overtook her body. She forgot what she was protesting or why. She forgot she’d even been upset. She floated, paralyzed, uncaring, and blank.

“Look at me, Hermione Jean Granger.”

Hermione lifted her eyes and blinked docilely up at Professor Dumbledore. Two tears trickled down her cheeks. She ignored them.

“You have no choice but to accept this.” Dumbledore filled every corner of her mind. There was no escaping the pressure. The cloying scent of lemon sugar, feathers, and patchouli smothered everything else. There was only Dumbledore’s voice. “Repeat after me, _Harry is my good friend and only my friend_.” 

Opening her mouth to speak, she sliced her tongue on a tooth. The sharp taste of blood and tears filled her mouth. For a moment she knew what was happening. She tried to wrench her mind free and slammed into a barrier, like a bird’s fragile body impacting a locked windowpane and falling senseless to the floor. There was no escaping the power of Dumbledore’s eyes. 

Tongue thick and tone lifeless, she laboriously repeated the words, “Harry is... my good... friend and only... my... friend.”

 _“I am not a Sentinel. I am just observant.”_ The voice ordered curtly.

Unable to do otherwise, she repeated, “I am not a Sentinel. I am just observant.”

Something was held to her lips. “Chew and swallow this.”

Hermione obeyed, not recognizing the bitter pellet that dissolved in her mouth and burned going down her throat.

“You will not forget these words, though you will forget everything else. You will live by these words. Thank you for your sacrifice. Even though you will forget it, I will remember your contribution to the greater good. Now sleep, Hermione Jean Granger, and when you wake up life will once again be exactly as expected for a fourth-year student at Hogwarts.”

No matter the promise in his words, Hermione had a feeling it would be a long time, if ever, before she woke up again.

* * *

Later that night in the Great Hall during dinner, Hermione had trouble hearing what Neville was saying over all of the celebrating going on. She leaned closer so he could speak in her ear. 

“I’m glad you recovered enough to join us for dinner. Harry was really upset that they put people at the bottom of the lake for the second task. I think he was madder about you being used then about everyone else, even Ron, especially after you ended up in the infirmary afterward. At one point I thought he was going to physically attack the judges.” Leaning back, Neville wagged his brows and nudged her with his elbow. “Any idea why he might be acting that way?”

Rubbing at the phantom ache in her chest, Hermione shrugged and forced a smile onto her face. “Harry is my good friend and only my friend.” When she looked up towards the head table, Dumbledore was watching her with twinkling eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

_ -8 years later- _

Trying not to think about how this might be her last chance to see Harry for the foreseeable future, Hermione Floo called him and stuck her face into the hearth fire. Since she had full access to his apartment, his security protocols didn’t make her wait for him to accept the call, instead sending her head straight through. She didn’t see Harry in the tidy living room full of plush furniture or hear him rattling around in the kitchen, though that didn’t mean he wasn’t here. Despite what other people claimed about no loss of fidelity, she’d always found her hearing and sight to be diminished during a Floo call and therefore didn’t completely trust in them. 

She reminded herself that the lack of Harry wasn’t immediately worrisome. However, the lack of his travel trunk in the living room was a bad sign. It made her anxious and lit fire to her temper. The headache she’d been nursing since waking up spiked hard behind her left eye.

“Harry? You better be home. If you’ve been kidnapped, I’m going to seriously curse some people in the Ministry,” she called, her voice dropping into a threatening growl by the end and her fists clenching on the stones of the hearth.

Harry's familiar black hair and green eyes popped around the doorframe of his bedroom, relieving her worries. “You’re early, great! I’m in here, though if you get bored and decide to start your cursing with the  _ Fifth Year Anniversary of Voldemort’s Final For Good This Time Defeat Ministry Committee, _ I am more than happy to be your alibi and hold your purse. Come on through.” 

Grinning, he sent her a wink and a wave. Her stomach fluttered. Like always, she did her best to ignore her body’s inappropriate reactions to her best friend. 

“I’m just finishing up packing.” Harry disappeared back into his room.

Deciding the flutter was just worry, Hermione huffed, sending a shower of sparks and ash flying into the air. “Harry James Potter, your international portkey leaves in an hour! You should’ve finished packing ages ago!” 

Pulling her head out of the hearth, she stood up, used her wand to activate the security protocols on her cottage, and stepped through the fire into Harry’s flat. 

After vanishing the soot from her clothing and curls, she looked around the familiar room and took a deep breath. Most of her anxiety flew away on a sigh. Nothing smelled as good as Harry’s apartment. Well, not unless you counted Harry himself. Stuffing the thought down, she marched forward into his room, noting with relief that her headache was clearing with every step.

Harry’s dresser drawers were open and a spell was currently folding the clothing in midair before depositing them in the trunk at the foot of his bed. Looking Harry up and down, she sniffed his breath from across the room and narrowed her eyes at the scent of ketosis and crisps. “So you stayed up half the night playing strategy games with your neighbor and haven’t eaten anything since those crisps last night?”

Stopping in front of her with a pair of boots dangling from his fingers, Harry shook his head in admiration. “How can you always tell? You’re like a Sentinel sometimes, I swear.” He turned and tossed the boots into the trunk, letting the packing charm catch them and tuck them neatly away into a corner.

“I am not a Sentinel. I am just—” 

“Observant,” Harry finished with her. “I know, that’s what you always say.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in unruly spikes as he looked around the room. “I only need a couple more things and then I’ll be ready to go.” Biting his lip, he tipped his head down and looked up at her through his lashes. “Could you make me a stack of toast to take with me? I don’t want anything heavier since I’ll probably throw up from the international portkey.”

“You’d have time for a proper breakfast if you’d packed earlier in the week as I told you to.” 

Harry raised his chin, the corner of his mouth kicking up. “I kept hoping you’d change your mind at the last minute and come with me.” Bottomless green eyes caught and held her gaze, making her chest feel tight at the hope and pleading found there.

Unwilling to revisit that argument again, especially because she didn’t understand her instinctive aversion to leaving Britain either and had been forced to give him an increasingly flimsy series of excuses that made her seem shallow and stupid, she turned on her heel and left for the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “I should make you eat a fry up so the pain of throwing up all over your boots on landing teaches you a lesson about procrastination.”

“Since I have to take multiple international portkeys to reach Japan, I’ve already accepted the inevitability that I’ll be upswallowing most of the way,” Harry called after her. “The only lesson to be learned here is how to stick the landing and endurance.”

Pulling out several slices of bread, Hermione popped them into the magical toaster and traced the rune sequence to start it up. “You’re lucky I came by early to see you off. I’d promised to have breakfast with Cormac this morning at that new cafe by the ministry, but we broke up last night so I just ate some oatmeal instead and called you early.”

“Is it insensitive to say  _ finally _ ?” Shutting his drawers loudly, Harry moved into the living room and began going through the shelves, pulling down and evaluating a book before putting it back. “You know I hate that guy. I never understood why you dated him. I mean, you told us all after the first date that he was a terrible kisser with bad breath and still a self-centered braggart. Should I make a quick detour on the way to the portkey office to kick his arse for being a git?”

Waving her hand, Hermione pulled out the toast and started buttering it. “No, if he needs punishing I’ll do it myself or call you in later for reinforcement. I’m not broken up about breaking up with him. I wasn’t in love or anything.” She sighed. “It was just nice to be in a relationship with someone who enjoyed attending all of those Ministry functions with me and got bent out of shape when someone assumed I was single and tried to grope me. Plus, his family knows everyone, so I met a lot of really neat people and got access to a lot of hard to find books.”

“So why did you finally wise up and dump him?” Harry asked, squatting down and leaning over to pull something from the bottom shelf of his bookcase. The way his trousers pulled tightly across his rear distracted her from his question for several seconds. “Well?” he prompted

Blinking hard and clearing her suddenly dry throat, she looked down and concentrated on wrapping the buttered toast in a cloth napkin. “Oh, Cormac actually dumped me.” 

“What?! Are you kidding me?” Harry looked over his shoulder at her in outrage. “You’re worth a hundred of him!”

Hermione flashed him a smile. “Thanks, but it’s fine. He’s been getting too demanding and jealous anyway, so if he hadn’t I probably would’ve instead.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s been complaining about how I make time to speak to you at least once a day but only see him a couple of times a week and only when his visits fit around my work schedule. When I told him last night I’d have to leave early from our breakfast date to see you off on your trip, we got into an argument. It was quite ridiculous. He demanded I tell him once and for all who was more important to me, him or you.” Making sure the bow on top of the napkin wouldn’t come undone, she cast a stasis charm to keep the food warm until Harry was ready to eat it and tucked it into the pocket of his travel cloak.

“And?” Harry’s hand fisted on the back of the couch as he stared at her intently. “What did you say?”

Looking at him incredulously, she huffed. “Seriously? Of course I picked you, Harry. That’s why he dumped me. You have to know you’re the most important person in my life. If not, I’m going to have to seriously question your intelligence.”

Laughing weakly, Harry looked away and put a hand on the back of his neck. “Right.” He swallowed hard, bringing attention to the strong column of his neck. Harry had a really nice neck.

“Are you done packing?” Hermione’s eyes trailed down his chest to the single book held in the crook of his arm. Harry had a really nice chest too.

Pointing a finger at her, Harry pivoted on his heel and disappeared back into his room. “Almost.” 

Hermione followed and leaned against the doorframe to watch him. “So you’re only going to be gone for five weeks on this boys trip, right?” She wrapped her arms around her waist, trying to ignore the nausea caused by the thought of him being so far away. She was going to be so lonely.

“That’s the plan,” Harry said, counting off the number of socks sitting on his bed before flipping them into the trunk. “And if you came it wouldn’t be a boys trip.”

“Harry,” she sighed, turning her head to look outside the window at the low hanging clouds. Just thinking about leaving Britain made the strange ache in her chest she’d been suffering with since sometime in her 4th year even worse—and no it wasn’t female hysteria and all in her head no matter what the three different male healers she’d talked to over the years had told her condescendingly. Britain was her country. Her territory. Leaving it felt like she was breaking some cardinal rule and betraying a duty. Of course, thinking of spending five weeks without Harry hurt too. She hadn’t spent that long away from him in years.

However—“You know that by staying here I’m protecting you. I have to stay here so your boys trip can happen. With me and Ron agreeing to speak at the ceremony, the  _ Fifth Year Anniversary of Voldemort’s Final For Good This Time Defeat Ministry Committee  _ doesn’t have enough clout to block your travel visa and force you up onto the stage with us. Especially not after I got Saint Mungos to publish that series of articles about undiagnosed PTSD in magicals who fought in the last few wars and how badly served veterans are by the British Ministry’s recent healthcare initiatives.”

“Which led to everyone treating me like I’m fragile for the last month,” Harry grumbled before looking at her face and sighing, “along with sweeping healthcare reform in the Wizengamot and an expedited travel visa upon request despite the committee’s repeated demands that I’m required to play a central role in their festivities.” 

Hermione leaned her head against the doorframe and sent him a small smile. “And so instead of being a performing monkey reliving horrible memories ad nauseum for the crowds, you get five luxurious weeks in Japan doing extreme magical sports that would probably turn my hair white.”

“You’d look ravishing with white hair,” Harry said, tugging on one of her curls with a cheeky grin before turning to grab something from the dresser next to her to toss in his trunk.

Not thinking about why she felt so breathless, Hermione looked down and licked her dry lips. “So what else will you guys be up to in Japan?”

“Riding brooms on Mt. Fuji, exploring bamboo forests, seeing exotic animals, and eating strange new foods.” Wrapping up parchment, quills, and pots of ink, Harry continued, “The other guys want to visit the famous Kamiya Dojo and its attached Sentinel and Guide Center. They say that the Magical Fountain of the Reverse Blade is blessed by magic and if it finds you worthy, it will bestow gifts like increased awareness, understanding, and magical power to those who drink.” He shrugged. “I don’t want or need more power than I already have, but I wouldn’t mind meeting a magical Sentinel or Guide while we’re there. I’ve always been curious, but as you know they’re rarer than invisibility cloaks here in magical Britain.”

“Yeah.” For some reason, she felt like a huge personal failure and disappointment after acknowledging that fact. Rubbing her chest, Hermione mentally pulled up all she knew about the mysterious Gifted for Harry, which wasn’t much. “I’ve read that Sentinels are so spiritually connected to and instinctively protective of their territory that they don’t travel much unless they’re bonded to a Guide, and even then they don’t leave their home territories for very long without a really good reason. The gifted almost never move from the country where they come Online. They form pride hierarchies like lion packs and rule and train themselves from Sentinel and Guide Centers. That means you have a good chance of meeting one if you visit the Kamiya S & G Center.”

“Nice!” Harry lobbed his comb into the trunk, watching it get caught by the packing charm right before smacking into and breaking a bottle of hair potion.

“I’m jealous.” Hermione crossed her arms. “They must be fascinating to talk to, especially since they’re very secretive and don’t write a lot about their abilities in books.”

“Probably because governments would try to take advantage of them,” Harry said with certainty.

“That’s rather pessimistic of you.”

Harry arched his brow. “Are you saying I’m wrong? That you trust the British Ministry of Magic to act with honor and integrity?”

Wrinkling her nose, Hermione sighed. “No... I want to believe that our government is there to serve and protect the people, but we’ve certainly seen evidence to the contrary. It is getting better though!”

“Well, they have you for an employee now, so obviously the Ministry’s not all bad.” Harry sent her a quick smile before returning to his packing.

“Thank you.” Clearing her throat, Hermione hopped up onto the dresser. Crossing her legs, she started swinging her foot. “The International Magical Sentinel and Guide Council has a lot of power worldwide and uses it to protect its members from abuse. Japan has a robust Gifted population, unlike Britain. We haven’t had more than a handful of bonded pairs at any one time in centuries. No one knows why, but there are several theories. Since magic is an intelligent force, some scholars blame the loss on colonialism trying to force bonded pairs to go serve in the colonies, leading to the gift being taken away from the homeland. Not that the gifted can’t move to new territories, but it has to be something both they and their spirit animals agree with and feel best serves the tribe and involves rituals only alluded to in the books I read. Other theories blame the loss on political regimes hostile to the Gifted or the unusually high number of Dark Lords spawned in recent centuries.”

“I’d believe the Dark Lord one,” Harry said, trying to pick between three patterned jumpers that looked like they’d been chosen by Molly Weasley. “Sentinels and Guides are uniquely sensitive to magic and could probably tell when someone is operating under a compulsion or curse, not to mention practicing Dark Arts. It would be hard to infiltrate the government with a robust population of Gifted around.”

Hermione nodded. “There are also King Arthur myths, saying that in Britain's greatest need the Lady of the Lake will return not just King Arthur but also Sentinels and Guides to these shores. I rather like that one.” 

Harry finally picked the ugliest of the three jumpers to take and put his others away, ignoring the face she made at his selection. “Do you know if we even have any Gifted in Britain?” 

“I’m not sure after the ravages of both Grindelwald and Voldemort.” Hermione rubbed her knee thoughtfully. “Cormac might know. The McLaggan family does seem to know everyone. Maybe he can introduce me. I’d  _ really  _ love to talk to a Sentinel. Or even better, a Guide...” she sighed wistfully and curled a strand of hair around her finger.

Moving to stand in front of where she perched on his dresser, Harry looked up into her eyes instead of down like usual. “You just broke up with Cormac, remember? You don’t need to talk to him anymore.” Keeping eye contact, he reached down, grabbed the edge of his shirt, and peeled it up and over his head. 

Hermione almost choked on her own spit. She could feel the heat radiating from his naked torso so close to her bare legs. Harry folded the shirt in his hands, wafting a fresh burst of scent her way. Her mouth watered. If she shifted just a little her calf would press against the skin of his side. She couldn’t help but inhale greedily as he turned, presenting broad shoulders narrowing down to slim hips, and placed the shirt in the open trunk. 

“I want to wear this one when I get to Japan instead of while I travel.” His innocent tone was the exact opposite of the smug look on his face. 

Tongue frozen behind parted lips, Hermione hungrily watched Harry move around as he made his bed and continued to pack. He spoke of other places he intended to visit in Japan but she wasn’t paying attention. She had to tuck her hands beneath her thighs to keep from reaching out and tracing the bumps of his spine and the contours of his stomach. Blinking was kept to a bare minimum because she didn’t want to miss a second of this rare treat. Harry’s skin looked pale and exquisitely soft over hard, toned muscles. Her fingernails bit into the bottom of her thighs. She could see the tracery of blue veins under his skin and almost hear the pulse pounding in his throat. Muscles shifted beneath his skin like a delicate ballet taking place behind a velvet curtain. She ached to slide down and go to him, to stir a fire in his blood and make him tremble the way she trembled.

Pausing in his packing, Harry gave her an all-too-knowing look, dragging his green eyes over her slowly and thoroughly. She tried to control her reaction but her body rarely obeyed her mind when Harry was involved. Heat rushed up to her cheeks and down to her middle. Harry’s lips quirked in satisfaction and his eyes went heavy-lidded. 

Gliding over to the highest bookshelf in the room, Harry went up onto his toes and stretched up his hand to reach a small metal jar sitting on the very top. Muscles up and down his body clenched. Seeing the line of his spine bookended by all that strength made her mouth water. HIs trousers slid down, exposing two dimples in his lower back. Going back down onto flat feet, he darted a glance at her over his shoulder, checking her reaction. It felt like being hit by a bolt of lightning. She had to look down to keep herself from doing something foolish.

Harry turned, eyes on the jar in his hands, rotating it end over end in long, elegant fingers. Those fingers could wield a wand or broom with as much confidence and ease as they folded clothes or made a bed. They’d probably touch a woman the same way, but she couldn’t allow herself to think about things like that.

Harry rubbed his thumb down the curve of the bottle. “Speaking of the most important person in my life... you have to know that it's you for me too. It’s always been you.” He took a deep breath, the muscles of his chest expanding distractingly, and looked up boldly. “You know, it’s not too late. You could still come with me to Japan. I… I love you, Hermione. I’m willing to be your partner in whatever way you’ll take me. I just need you to tell me what that is. You could come as my girlfriend, my fiancee, or even my wife. I’d be blessed to have you as my wife.”

Hermione stopped breathing, the disconnect between her body, mind, and emotions so strong that she felt momentarily paralyzed, as if some outside force was overriding her control.

“And—and if you don’t want to be physical or—or romantic for some reason, I’ll accept that too. I just want more of you in my life. I want you in my space and by my side as much as I can get you.” Voice stumbling and cracking, Harry kept going despite the obvious nerves. “We can be whatever you want us to be, just be all in with me. Come with me to Japan. Please.”

“Harry,” she choked out, “I—I... Harry is my good friend and only my friend.” The words escaped without conscious choice, as if another entity had taken over her mouth. She wanted to say something different, but the words wouldn’t form even as thoughts. She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come either.

“Right.” Turning his head away sharply, Harry tossed the jar carelessly back onto the bookshelf with a clatter that made her flinch. Stalking over to his closet, he roughly yanked open the door and pulled a shirt out, jerking it on over tensely corded shoulders. 

Sliding down off the dresser, Hermione wished she could sink through the floor and disappear. “I’m sorry. Harry, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I’m like this. Please don’t be mad. Don’t hate me.” She wanted to die. Her chest and head hurt so much, like something was clawing at her from the inside, trying to get out.

Harry blew out his breath hard and rolled his shoulders before turning around with an obviously forced smile. “Hey, this doesn’t change things. Loving you means accepting your choices. I’ll disappear to Japan to lick my wounds and be back to normal by the time I return. You’re still my best friend.” 

“You’ll still write and floo call me when you can?” She wrung her hands.

“So much you’ll get sick of me,” Harry promised, the fake cheer dropping from his face. Blinking away what looked and smelled like tears, he strode over to the bookshelf, deliberating for only a few seconds before grabbing a photo album. He tossed it carelessly into the truck to be caught by the packing spell. 

Hermione felt nauseous with misery.

Picking up his wand, Harry canceled the packing charm, closed the lid, shrank the trunk using advanced spellwork she’d taught him just last year, and tucked it into his pocket. “Honestly, we’ll get past this. We’re going to be fine, I promise. It was unfair to ask you to take off from work so suddenly anyway when you’re so close to finishing your current project. I’m pretty sure you’re about to get that promotion you’ve been killing yourself to get. I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that for you.” He pulled on his travel cloak.

“Yeah, you know me and work,” Hermione said shakily, following Harry to the hearth and through to the International Portkey office. 

She’d planned on giving Harry a big long hug before he left to get them both through the long separation, but doing it now after all he’d just said seemed cruel and selfish. The rest of the guys going on the trip greeted Harry with backslaps and excited chatter, making it impossible for Hermione to get a private moment to set the story straight, though she didn’t know what to say to make things better. 

She still didn’t know when the group gathered around the straw hat that was serving as the International portkey. She just knew that this parting was breaking her heart. Harry was leaving Britain and leaving her behind. Her lower lip quivered uncontrollably and her nose stung sharply.

“Wait a minute, guys,” Harry said, abruptly jogging back to her side. Throwing his arms around her, he pulled her tight against his chest and pressed his cheek to her temple with a ragged breath. Hermione couldn’t help but wrap her arms around his back and hug him desperately. She buried her nose in the crook of his neck, trying to imprint the scent of his hair and skin into her psyche.

“I will miss you every moment I’m gone, so stay out of trouble until I get back, you hear me?” he said fiercely in her ear, shaking her once before leaning back. 

The travel alert began to chime.

Laughing wetly, Hermione forced herself to unlock her arms from around his waist. “I promise, no trouble or mischief until you get back.”

Walking backward to keep her in his sights, he pointed a finger at her. “I’m holding you to that.” 

“Don’t forget to eat your toast,” she said, wiping away the tears trickling down her cheeks.

He swallowed and patted the bulge in his cloak pocket. Turning at the last moment, he grabbed the edge of the portkey. Seconds later, his entire group disappeared. 

Harry was gone.

If it felt slightly more painful than losing a limb, well, it was no more than she deserved. 

Keeping her head high and her knees from collapsing through sheer force of will, Hermione bee-lined for the nearest private space, a closet just down the hall. Ducking inside with eyes already blinded by tears, she locked the door and barely managed to cast a silencing charm before the first wail of grief escaped her. Collapsing into a ball on the floor, hurting more than even at the height of Bellatrix’s torture, she clawed at the empty feeling in her chest and cried and cried and cried.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a new scene to this from the rough draft some of you saw last month. Cheers!

If Hermione felt tetchy and out of sorts as soon as Harry left Britain, well, it was only to be expected. Routine was important to Hermione and nothing had been routine since Harry left. Not seeing and talking to him every day was just the tip of the iceberg. She couldn’t sleep through the night anymore, haunted by nightmares, sometimes of failing tests or letting down friends, other times of searching for something that was right in front of her face but which she was kept from seeing by a tall, shadowy figure. 

She’d also started getting strange headaches and breaking out in rashes. Everything she ate tasted just slightly off, making all the speeches, parties, and feasts she had to attend as one of the main figures in the 5th year celebration of Voldemort’s defeat (saying the full committee name every time got exhausting) rather trying. Her work suffered leading up to the main event while she stepped forward to fulfill the expectations of the wizarding public on Harry’s behalf. At least she could spare him that and, unlike Ron, she didn’t care if they let her know she was second-best.

However, she did care very much when Committee Chairwoman Brickbird pulled Hermione aside after a party leading up to the anniversary and smugly told her not to bother writing a speech for the closing ceremony anymore. The Chairwoman was in her mid-thirties and wore orange and white robes with white suede, short-heeled boots. She had black curls held back in a polished horn clip, heavy but expensive glamour charms, brown eyes framed by uncomfortably long lashes, and coral lips. She smiled a lot, but those smiles never seemed to reach her eyes. Her wealthy husband was at least thirty to forty years her senior and had a lot of friends high up in the Ministry.

“May I ask why?” Hermione didn’t mind not talking, but it seemed curious considering how she’d been forced to sign a legal contract the day after Harry left promising she’d go to the event and talk about defeating Voldemort and his Death Eaters for no less than seven and no more than twenty-four minutes. The chairwoman had lobbied hard to get the Ministry to use its authority to keep Harry in Britain for the celebrations. When she’d lost and been forced to settle for Hermione, she made sure to lock Hermione into the legal contract. Hermione didn’t trust her.

“As the Chairwoman of the  _ Fifth Year Anniversary of Voldemort’s Final For Good This Time Defeat Ministry Committee _ , I have a duty to make sure our celebration is bigger and better than any that have gone before. Despite the ridiculous opposition I’ve faced, I’ve taken measures to make sure that in one week The Savior of the Wizarding World will be present to give the penultimate speech himself, as expected and demanded by the wizarding public.”

Hermione felt her expression go flat as anger sparked in her breast. “Harry doesn’t want to give a speech. He doesn’t want to keep recounting one of the worst experiences of his life for your prurient interest. He’s given enough for the wizarding public. You were told not to expect him this year. He’s already in Japan and out of your reach. Please understand, you may have a speech from me or from someone else who’s willing, but you don’t get Harry. Leave. Him. Alone.”

Corners of her eyes going tight, Chairwoman Brickbird gave a fake smile. “Miss Granger, perhaps you didn’t understand. I’m informing you that you’ve been excused from speaking as a legal courtesy. Your adolescent attempts to shield Potter from his duty are pointless. My allies in the travel and diplomatic departments will recall him soon. Until then, I expect to see you at each of the events in the schedule. Goodbye.” She turned to leave with a cocky toss of her hair. 

Hermione slammed the door shut in Chairwoman Brickbird’s face. Long eyelashes quivering, Brickbird gaped at Hermione in shock. 

“Chairwoman Brickbird, I feel like there’s been a misunderstanding between us.” Baring her teeth, Hermione leaned against the door and fingered her wand. “You see, when I told you that you don’t get to have Harry at your event, I was giving you facts, not wishful thinking.”

Eyes going narrow and cheeks red, the older woman tried to pull on the doorknob but wasn’t able to open it against the weight of Hermione’s body. “Let me out at once, Miss Granger, or I’ll make you regret it. Don’t make me bring charges against you.”

“Regret… let’s talk about that, shall we? It’s what you’ll be feeling if you don’t cancel whatever measures you have to force Harry to come back for your party.” Hermione let Brickbird see the threat in her eyes. “Harry is honorable and wouldn’t think of lashing out at someone like you for hurting him, but you see, I’m not so easy going when it comes to protecting the people I care about.” 

Hermione stepped forward and the other woman took a stumbling step back, pressing a hand to her throat. “I didn’t survive constant attacks as a teenager from Voldemort and his sadistic followers by being stupid,” Hermione hissed. “Do you even listen when they read my biography of accomplishments at these events? I’m the brightest witch of our age and fought the war at Harry’s side!”

Sucking in a breath, Hermione forced her voice to go conversational instead of shouting like she really wanted to. “I had you investigated after your many attempts to ignore Harry’s wishes. Do you think I missed how you used fair means and foul to try and force him to jump to your tune? In case you were wondering, I don’t mind searching out and reading old documents to find the answers I need and there are a lot of people ever so happy to reminisce about the past to a war hero like me. Any guesses as to what I might have found?”

Brickbird went pale, her hand going to her wand holster and fumbling at the snap holding it closed. 

Hermione wasn’t worried. “It was so interesting to learn that you became chairwoman of the  _ Fifth Year Anniversary of Voldemort’s Final For Good This Time Defeat Ministry Committee  _ because you attend the same expensive social club as the Deputy Minister of Magic’s wife and had her lobby on your behalf. Only the most elite and unimpeachable ladies in magical Britain are allowed membership, isn’t that right? Your husband also paid a lot of money to throw a series of parties for you as you applied for the chairwoman position, didn’t he?”

“What’s your point,” Brickbird asked tightly, giving up on getting out her wand and crossing her arms tightly. “Unlike you, I’m not a single muggle witch alone in the wizarding world. I’m a pureblood with a rich and powerful husband.” Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. The other woman’s voice went shrill. “If you keep threatening me, I’m going to have to talk to my husband and he’ll have to talk to his friends, which could trickle down to people like your boss in the Ministry. You could lose your reputation and your job over this.”

Hermione tapped her chin and pointed at her. “That part’s true, but you see, I don’t care. Harry’s worth it to me.” Smiling coldly, she stepped forward. “I know your husband is very influential and has quite a temper. And reputations can be so fragile. Sorry, I meant to say your  _ second _ husband is influential. Both of your husbands have a temper, though can we really call Mr. Brickbird your second husband when your first marriage was never even legally dissolved? Wouldn’t that make you a mistress? Or is it guilty of fraud?” 

The color drained from Chairwoman Brickbird’s face and she swayed. 

“I certainly have no problem with you marrying a werewolf—Remus Lupin was a war hero and one of the best DADA professors I ever had. He’s the father of Harry’s beloved godson. Being a werewolf was something he bore with dignity and grace.”

“Granger—”

“While many wizards would look down on you for marrying a werewolf, I certainly never would. Besides, the man was certainly handsome in your wedding photos, even if he has let himself go a bit in recent years. You’re lucky he didn’t die in the war, though maybe that’s what you were hoping to hear when you paid Mildred Applepush to track him down and stalk him for you last year?”

“Granger—”

“No, I can’t say I approve of how you up and abandoned your husband without even a note, started going by your grandmother’s last name in a new city, never filed legal divorce papers, and married Mr. Brickbird illegally using a fake last name. I doubt your rich and influential pureblood friends would approve of it either.”

“Please. Stop. There’s no need to be threatening.” The Chairwoman huddled against the wall and sent Hermione a pitiful look.

Hermione tilted her head to the side and arched a brow incredulously. “Please? I asked you to please leave Harry alone and you threatened to bring charges against me for simply talking to you with the door shut. Hmm… I wonder how Mr. Brickbird would react on hearing about the true state of his so-called marriage? There’s a lot of money and prestige on the line for you, isn’t there?”

Dropping her pitiful act, Chairwoman Brickbird’s eyes flicked back and forth as she tried and failed to think of a way out of the trap that had just closed around her. “What do you want, Granger? Money? Introductions to powerful friends?” She licked her lips nervously.

Shaking her head and sighing, Hermione rubbed at the ache in her temple that never disappeared for long lately. “I’d like for you to stop being so stupid, if that’s even possible. I certainly hope it is. Look, what have I wanted since the first time I met you and during every conversation since?”

Brickbird wound her robes around her fingers and fidgeted. “Um… respect?”

“Yes, but respect for whom?” Hermione asked leadingly with what she felt was admirable patience. She deserved a medal for this.

“Harry Potter?” Brickbird asked tentatively, peeking up at Hermione and biting her lip so hard it started to bleed. She winced and dabbed it with the back of her hand before looking back up at Hermione fearfully.

Hermione really wished she could just hex the woman silly and walk away instead of having to resort to blackmail, but life was rarely fair that way. “Yes, Harry Potter. You will cancel any plans you’ve made to drag him back to Britain. From now on I want you to respect his wishes and leave him alone. Tell your friends to do the same. Don’t try to talk to him. Don’t talk about him to others. Leave him alone. It’s simple. If you don’t inconvenience his life, I won’t inconvenience yours. Understand?” If not, Hermione wasn’t sure how to rephrase it since she felt like she was already repeating herself. 

Nodding eagerly, the chairwoman clasped her hands in front of her chest. “Yes, I promise! I’ll talk to my people and tell them I changed my mind. I’ll leave him alone. And you can be the keynote speaker during the closing ceremonies again, just like we planned.” 

At Hermione’s unimpressed look, Brickbird’s shoulders hunched again. “I said I’d leave him alone, what else do you want?”

For a moment Hermione was tempted to use her leverage to shove all of the spotlight onto Ron and the other heroes of Hogwarts expected to make appearances in the upcoming ceremonies, but then she remembered the by turns awkward and embarrassing speeches Ron had given in previous years and how his exploits became more nauseatingly over the top with each retelling. She couldn’t stomach sitting through more of that. If it wasn’t irritating it was just downright boring. 

Ron was still a good friend, but they weren’t as close as they’d been in school, especially after their breakup. Her patience for his faults had gotten a lot smaller. He felt the same when it came to her so-called more irritating habits, so they kept their interactions short and sweet. Listening to him give speeches multiple times a week for a month was neither short nor sweet.

It might not be modest, but for good speeches, she had to take care of it herself.

“Fine,” Hermione nodded sharply, “as long as Harry’s left unbothered I’ll forget all about my little discoveries and we can resume our professional relationship. I’ll attend events as dictated by my schedule and otherwise we can stay out of each other's way.” 

“Right.” Brickbird tugged at her orange and white robes, straightening and smoothing them, rebuilding her mask of confidence.

Moving to the door, Hermione looked back over her shoulder as she opened it. “Oh, and Chairwoman Brickbird? I hope we’ve cleared up all of your misunderstandings and trust that we won’t have to discuss this ever again.” She let the woman see the temper still boiling under her skin, making the woman plot down onto the floor as the strength in her legs gave out. “Goodbye.”

* * *

True to her word, the Chairwoman canceled her plans and kept Harry blissfully out of the rest of the celebrations. Hermione still had to suffer through them, but the happy letter she received with a picture of a widely grinning Harry flying through a Japanese bamboo grove without a care in the world made all of her efforts worthwhile, even the loss of that first edition book she’d had to sell to pay off Mildred Applepush so she’d turn on Chairwoman Brickbird.

The celebrations and demands on Hermione’s time finally ended. Her headaches and rashes didn’t get better though, nor did her nightmares. 

Deciding that she might as well have a good reason for being stressed, she moved into her office for two weeks straight. Hermione was so close to that promotion she could taste it. By working instead of brooding every time she woke up in the middle of the night, she put herself on target to finish her project weeks ahead of schedule, even if it also drove all her coworkers crazy with how demanding and on edge she acted. Cleaning charms were also a poor substitute for a full bath. Unable to stand herself anymore, she moved back home. It helped her to smell better, even if nothing tasted right and she was still sleeping poorly.

Harry sent frequent letters from Japan, which helped, but their one attempt to talk over an international floo call had so many dropped words and comically frozen facial expressions that they decided not to bother trying again. 

Hermione took to carrying around a calendar and putting a big red X through each day as it passed so she could remind herself how soon Harry would be back.

With only six days left on the calendar and her vision blurring from weeks without a good night’s sleep, Hermione gave in and took a sleeping draught to combat the nightmares. She needed sleep to work. Besides, she didn’t want Harry to know what a wreck she’d become without him. She didn’t want to make him worry first thing when he got back. Their reunion should be a happy one.

* * *

At 3:52 AM Hermione opened her eyes and bolted upright in bed. PAIN! It felt like her heart wanted to jerk out of her chest and thump away out the door to some distant country. She could barely breathe or see. Her head felt like it was clamped in a vise and liable to split into pieces at any moment. 

Strange emotions flooded her. Even as tears of sorrow streamed down her face she started giggling hysterically. The giggles turned to screams of anger and then whimpers of fear. The emotions weren’t hers somehow but that didn’t stop them from affecting her. She couldn’t find the strength to reach for her wand. She desperately needed to help the person feeling the emotions but she couldn’t even help herself. 

Her heart raced faster than a zouwus. It felt like there was a creature inside her chest trying to claw its way free. Laughing madly, Hermione’s body convulsed. Something snapped and a ghostly paw tipped in sharp claws burst out from between her breasts. A glowing stag charged through the wall and towered over her in the bed, his antlers scraping across her ceiling. Hermione screamed as magic surged in her core. The ghostly paw protruding from her chest clenched into a fist as magic streamed into it, glowing like a noonday sun. The paw opened and the magic shot out of her in a blinding rush. The stag opened his mouth and swallowed it down. Then he disappeared along with the furred arm between her breasts.

Overcome, Hermione blacked out.

When she woke up the next morning, Hermione looked at the tangled state of her bedsheets and felt confused and frustrated. The dreamless sleep potion obviously hadn’t blocked the bad dreams, just her memory of them. She felt more drained and exhausted than normal and decided to avoid using that potion again. Touching her chest, she flashed on a strange image of an animal paw. It must’ve been part of her nightmares. 

That or a mental nudge to start practicing the patronus charm again. The patronus charm was one of the few spells she continued to struggle with after an initial success. If she didn’t practice regularly, she had the worst time conjuring her glowing otter in fewer than five or six tries. Harry always found it hilarious and teased her about it, the jerk.

Harry.

Looking over at her calendar, Hermione picked up a quill and marked off another square. Just five more days and he’d be back. She could last five days.

As she stood up the world started to spin. Hermione felt a rush of dizziness and had to cling for a moment to the bedpost and close her eyes to avoid passing out. Her stomach churned with nausea. She wished she knew what was wrong with her lately. Why were her senses so out of control?

Unexpectedly the image of Professor Dumbledore popped into her head, staring at her over his spectacles with hard eyes. She didn’t know what it meant, considering he’d been dead for six years. Probably to stop worrying about herself and go to work. There was a greater good to be served with her work in the Ministry, after all.

For breakfast, she had a piece of plain toast and barely steeped tea, all she could stomach this morning. Everything else in her flat smelled putrid. Casting the strongest glamour charms she knew to keep from looking like a hag and downing several potions, Hermione dragged herself to work. Luckily she was so ahead of things that all she had to do was read over other people’s reports because writing or speaking intelligently seemed to be beyond her. 

For lunch, she dragged herself out to the lunch trolley. Nothing looked appetizing but she needed the energy. The potion she’d taken earlier had barely soothed her tummy or given her any extra energy. Finally she just grabbed herself a roll and a honeyed nutrient potion, unable to muster up the energy to care that she was stuck in line with Draco Malfoy and her glamour charms were wearing off. The rash on her wrist was getting worse too. She scratched it morosely.

“Dieting, Granger?” Malfoy asked, arching a pale brow as he paid for a boxed lunch and banana kelp smoothie. “If you get any skinnier you’ll look skeletal. Attractively slim is an impossible goal. In fact, attractive at all is impossible for someone like you. Dieting is pointless.” 

“Nah, I’m feeling a bit dicky actually, but if I start to vomit I’ll make sure I’m pointed at you.” Either her threat or the ghastly smile she followed it up with worked to get him to back off and let her take the lift back to her floor without him. 

Draco Malfoy was still a horrible human being. And she wasn’t that skinny! She was still larger than Luna or Parvati, two rather svelte female classmates she still saw regularly at the Ministry. She had lost weight though. She probably should work harder to eat well if she didn’t want Harry fussing.

Just before work ended for the day, Hermione heard a great flight of mail flapping and swooshing out in the halls. A couple of hoots sounded too, meaning someone was going to get yelled at again for bypassing the mailroom. Barely staying awake at her desk, Hermione had routed anything not marked urgent to the mailbox outside her door. Doors slammed open and chatter filled the halls. Since no scrolls or letters swooshed underneath her door to land on her desk, Hermione marked it down as gossip that could wait and returned to the paragraph she’d been trying to get through for the last half hour.

Five minutes later her door was unceremoniously thrown open by Cormac McLaggan, ex-boyfriend and rising star in the Ministry. He paused to pose in the door. “You have to realize what this means,” he announced loudly.

Blinking up at him blearily, Hermione leaned back in her chair and sighed. “What  _ what _ means, Cormac? And since we’re not dating anymore you need to knock before opening my door, not that I gave you permission not to knock even when we were dating. It’s rude.”

Handsome even in a temper, one of the more shallow reasons she’d agreed to date him in the first place, Cormac tossed back golden curls and sneered. The sneer, she noted, was not attractive. Nor was the sour way he smelled, stronger than usual even with him on the other side of her desk. Had he forgotten his deodorant potion this morning? 

Cormac stepped into her office and looked down his nose at her. She abruptly couldn’t smell him at all. Thank goodness. “He’s never going to choose you, especially not now. You’ve wasted your loyalty and heart on someone who’s going to abandon you, who’s already abandoned you. I bet he’s not even coming back to Britain. He probably can’t,” he finished triumphantly.

Placing her hands flat on her desk, Hermione frowned up at him. “You’re the one who dumped me, so I don’t know why you’re being so unpleasant right now. Also, I’m feeling poorly and unable to follow whatever it is you’re trying to say. Speak clearly or get out before I hex you. Or vomit.”

“If you’re going to vomit you should take a potion,” Cormac said, taking a cautious step back.

Hermione scowled at him. “The potions aren’t working, thank you very much.”

Pursing his lips, Cormac leaned forward, pulled a folded up paper out of his robe, and slid it onto her desk before taking a hopping step back. It was one of the international papers he liked to follow. The picture on the front page was partially hidden under the fold, but she could see part of a red Japanese torii gate.

Harry was in Japan.

Fingers going numb and pain spiking in her chest, she dragged the paper closer and unfolded it to read the headline. Whatever else Cormac said was lost to the buzzing in her ears.

“ _ British Hero Harry Potter Comes Online As A Guide After Drinking Japanese Fountain _ .” 

* * *

Over the next few days, the news didn’t get any better. Instead of coming Online gently, Harry’s gifts had blown completely open in the middle of the tourist season. Unable to shield himself, his empathy had overloaded his mind and he’d passed out. They’d rushed him into seclusion at the Kamiya Sentinel and Guide Center. A source who preferred not to be named claimed that it was a minor miracle that he hadn’t damaged himself permanently. Other sources claimed he’d gone catatonic and was being hidden from the public.

Hermione could barely breathe for worrying. Added to that, her bosses at work were being unreasonable and demanding with the current workload.

The news kept getting worse. The British Consulate had tried to forcefully remove Harry from the S&G Center, despite protests that he’d barely woken up and still hadn’t learned to build his own mental shields, so moving him could cause long-term damage. A fight had broken out that sent fifteen witches and wizards to the hospital. The International Magical Sentinel and Guide Council had taken custody of Harry and threatened to sanction the British government per the Treaty of 1486. The Magical Japanese government was interpreting the British consulate’s actions as a huge offense against their honor and the honor of their local S&G Center and angrily closed their borders to British travelers. It was a huge mess. 

Unable to take it anymore and not caring if her boss fired her for disappearing, Hermione tried to buy an International portkey to Japan. She was denied. Even trying to play up her fame wasn’t enough. When she tried to protest that she was Harry’s best friend and he needed her, the supervisor of the International Portkey Office—who was probably a crony of Chairwoman Brickbird—called security and had Hermione forcibly escorted from the building. Hermione asked Ron to try but he didn’t have any better luck.

About to liquidate her assets and either buy a muggle plane ticket or chain-apparate across all of Europe and Asia, Hermione received an international floo call from Harry himself. 

“Harry, are you alright?!” she cried, kneeling on the pillow next to the hearth. It was hard to evaluate someone’s health from a face made out of coals and flames, but she desperately tried.

“As well as can be expected,” he said. “It’s so great to see you. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too!” She hoped she didn’t look as frazzled as she felt.

“You’ve probably already heard by now, but I came Online as a Guide, which shocked me just as much as everyone else. Unfortunately, they think there might be some spells from when I was a teenager lingering in my core that’s messing up my senses and making it hard for me to build the mental shields I need to protect me from going crazy feeling everyone else’s emotions. I haven’t met my spirit animal yet either and that’s not normal.” He frowned.

Swallowing, she forced a teasing look on her face. “You not being normal? What a strange thought.” Harry huffed a laugh, sending up a few sparks and making her feel accomplished. 

“I tried to come to you but I couldn’t get a visa and the portkey office put me on the banned list. Work is being unreasonable too.” She scowled. “I haven’t given up on it though.”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry said, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “You don’t need to do anything crazy or get in trouble. I don’t want that for you. Besides, they tell me I’m not going to be seeing anyone until I build my shields and get the lingering spells in my core sorted out anyway.” He grimaced. “Don’t tell anyone but there might be some alchemy involved too.”

“Alchemy? How? Who?” Hermione wished she could reach through the fire and wrap her arms around Harry’s shoulders. 

“Who knows? It’s not like the list of people who don’t like me for one reason or another is short.”

“I like you,” Hermione said fiercely. “I’ve always liked you. I wish I could give you a hug.”

“Me too,” Harry said softly, blinking rapidly before glancing over his shoulder. “I need to cut this short as my shields are getting ragged again but I wanted you to know that I’m okay and not to worry.”

Swallowing hard, Hermione fisted her hands. “You are coming back to Britain, right? Or did coming Online in Japan turn that into your territory?” She held her breath.

Harry shook his head so hard pieces of embers went flying. “No! I’m definitely still British through and through. I am coming back to you, I just need to get enough training so I can control my new gifts. It—” he hesitated and looked down, his voice going quiet “—it’s not going to be quick. They said it could take six months to a year to get me there.”

For a moment Hermione thought she might pass out and fall face-first into the fire. “Oh.” 

Looking up, Harry nodded. “Yeah, but you know me. I’m a fast learner. I bet I can do it quicker.”

She swallowed hard and looked down to hide the tears in her eyes. “Well, you definitely need to stay as long as needed to make sure your mind is protected. That’s important. You’re important.”

“Thanks.” Harry paused for a moment before saying in a rush, “So I know I always joke about it, but are you sure you’re not Gifted too? You could be latent like me.”

If Harry had asked her in person, maybe this time she could’ve answered differently. 

Or maybe not. 

It didn’t matter how much her heart bit and clawed to escape her chest when it was firmly caged by ribs, muscles, and skin. “I am not a Sentinel. I am just observant,” she whispered, the rote words followed by a wash of acid that burned up her throat. 

Harry didn’t have anything to say to that.

Fisting her hands out of sight, she forced a cheerful look on her face. “I’ll miss you every day. You have to learn as much as you can and then come back and tell me a-a-ll about it. I want regular reports. Big ones.”

“There’s gonna be a test, huh?” Harry cocked his head as if someone out of sight was talking before turning back. “I’ve got to go, they only let me call you on the British Ambassador’s Official Floo as a special favor for almost kidnapped me and starting a war, but keeping the call this clear means interfering with a lot of other calls throughout Asia and Europe so I’m told it’s unlikely to be allowed again outside of a dire emergency. I’ll write as often as I can and see if I can swing another public floo call somewhere else, though it’s probably going to be as patchy as our first one.”

“I’ll write to you every day,” she promised in a rush.

“Good, I’m holding you to that.” Harry met her eyes and smiled, though it looked more like a grimace. “See you in a few months, Hermione, and don’t forget your promise to stay out of trouble.” 

“Only if you do the same,” she said, giving him an equally fake smile. At least they were both trying. “Good luck, Harry!” Hermione focused on the blazing coals of his eyes until the magic disappeared and the shape of his face collapsed into white ash. The fire had turned to pale embers and the moon rose high in the sky before she finally stood up and left the room to get changed and return to work. There would be no sleeping tonight.

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter leading up to the events of the next two. Chapter 7 will start the completely new content for those who followed the rough draft of the story on RT.

Straightening her clothing nervously, Hermione pressed a hand against the letter in the inner breast pocket of her robes, wafting up the faint scent of parchment and Harry. It was almost enough to banish the faint headache that had taken up residence behind her eyes. Tipping her head down she breathed deeply, taking courage before marching up to the front doors of Hogwarts. The multitude of soaring turrets and random spires were so familiar that she couldn’t help but feel a surge of rightness at returning to her first magical home. 

Before she reached the top of the steps the door opened and a female house-elf looked out at her with big brown eyes that narrowed in recognition. “I remember yous. Yous graduated. Harry Potter’s Friend.”

“That’s right.”

“Yous not here to trick us with clothes?”

“What? No! Winky, isn’t it? I’m here to see Headmistress McGonagall.” Hermione did her best to keep from scowling. She still didn’t like the way house-elves were treated, but she acknowledged that the topic was a lot more complicated than she’d originally seen as a teen. 

Tugging hard on a batlike ear, Winky nodded and opened the door wider. “Welcome back to Hogwarts, miss. Headmistress be in South office. Winky take you there.”

Winky knocked on the office door and then departed after Professor McGonagall called Hermione in. 

Hat off and hair back in the usual bun, McGonagall sat at a desk working on a large stack of correspondence. The increased responsibilities didn’t seem to have worn down Hermione’s former Head of House appreciably, Hermione saw with relief. “Headmistress McGonagall, thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”

“I’m always happy to make time for my former lions, especially for favorite students like you, Miss Granger. Just give me a moment. Last night we unexpectedly lost our Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. I need to mail these recruitment letters out right after our meeting.” Capping her quill, she tapped the parchment she’d just finished with her wand and replicated it ten times.

“I’m so sorry to hear that she had an accident,” Hermione said. Unable to keep still, she drifted towards the south side of the room. “I thought the position wasn’t cursed anymore. What happened? Is she alright?”

“Not if I catch up with her,” McGonagall scowled. “The foolish chit went to Hogsmeade for the weekend, fell head over heels for some musician, and decided to quit by owl post and join him in travelling the world to perform  _ The Ballad of the Golden Trio _ . She’s supposedly the spitting image of Ronald Weasley, though not Ginevra.” Hermione tried to picture that and grimaced. She looked at McGonagall, silently questioning the resemblance claim.

McGonagall tilted her head to the side and shrugged before sighing gustily. “Whatever the case, with the term just starting I’m at a bit of a loss. I handed out essays from the reading for the students and otherwise let them roam free for the period. But enough of my troubles,” she rose from her desk and shook out her robes. “Not knowing what you wished to speak of, I took a chance and put in an order of tea with the kitchens. I hope you don’t mind.” At Hermione’s headshake, McGonagall tapped her wand on a metal teacup, making it ring softly. 

Hermione let her feet take her on a rambling path through the room and over to the window. She looked out at the Great Lake. Seeing a flash of tentacles and a splash she smiled, remembering her friends taking turns racing their brooms through the giant squid’s waving tentacles while trying to not fall into the water. The pleasant feeling increased as she moved several steps to the left where an inlaid circle of pale blue decorated the floor. The view wasn’t as good but it must be the perfect angle for the sunshine because the spot felt warm and inviting.

A house-elf popped in, set up a tea service, and popped out again. “We can sit at my desk, the corner table, or the couch against the wall,” McGonagall offered.

“If it’s not too much trouble, could we move the table and eat right here?” Hermione asked.

“Why that particular spot, Miss Granger?” Eyes observing her sharply, the Headmistress nevertheless used her wand to move over a small table, two chairs, and the tea service. 

Rubbing her toe against the blue circle, Hermione found herself caught without a logical answer. “No particular reason, it just feels like the best spot in the room. It’s nice.” The chair bumped up against the back of her legs and she sat down and let it scoot her into the table.

McGonagall hummed thoughtfully and took her own seat. “Did you know that Hogwarts is built on one of the largest magical nodes in Scotland?”

“Yes, I remember that from  _ Hogwarts: A History _ .” Hermione lifted the teapot and poured the Headmistress and herself some tea.

“Then you might also remember that thousands of ley lines radiate out from the node, intersecting along the way. Some of these lines shift over time while others stay fixed. When a witch or wizard stands directly on top of a magical node or intersection, magic becomes easier to harness and the power of a spell magnifies.” McGonagall paused to take a sip of tea.

Hermione nodded her head to show she was paying attention. “Yes, I’ve read that ritual circles are almost always built on ley line nodes or static intersections. Being able to sense magic in general takes practice but isn’t that uncommon in magicals. However, sensing where ley lines exist and the location of nodes and intersections is an extremely rare and highly prized magical gift. Some theorize that only a handful of people are so blessed in every generation.”

“Indeed, almost completely right, Miss Granger.” The Headmistress took a biscuit and dipped it into her tea before taking a bite.

Mind racing, Hermione put down her teacup with a frown. “What did I miss?” 

“It isn’t taught much since our Gifted population is so small, but powerful Sentinels are sometimes able to sense the movement and pooling of magical ley lines and nodes. In other countries it is standard to employ such a Sentinel before building any sort of ritual space.” 

Hermione’s mouth rounded in surprise.

“I bring this up because that circle on the floor you found yourself drawn to is a static intersection and the most magically powerful spot in this part of the castle. You walked right over to it as if drawn and haven’t moved since. With Mr. Potter coming Online so unexpectedly, I feel like I have to ask, could you be a Sentinel, Miss Granger?”

“I am not a Sentinel. I am just observant.” Taking a gulp of tea, Hermione pressed a hand against the pain in her chest. “That’s all I can say. I don’t know why I wanted to sit here.”

“Hmm, very well. It’s probably just wishful thinking on my part. Most people don’t talk about it anymore but I’m not ashamed to boast that I come from a long and illustrious line of Sentinels. One of my ancestors used her spirit animal as inspiration to create both the Patronus Charm and the Animagus Spell.”

“Really? I had no idea they came from the same person.” Hermione made a mental note to look up the history of both spells when she got home. 

“Yes, it’s a shame so many magicals nowadays lack the mental discipline to get in touch with their primal form and master advanced spellwork.” Sighing, Mcgonagall took another sip of tea and looked out the window. “But you’ve heard me lecture on hard work often enough and don’t need a refresher. Why don’t you tell me what brings you to visit me today?”

Putting down the biscuit she’d just been about to take a bite of, Hermione licked her lips and took a deep breath. “I’m hoping to get a bit of life advice, Professor. In a recent letter, Harry suggested I try talking to someone whose life path I respect. There’s no witch in the world that I respect more than you.” Hermione wiped damp palms down her robes. 

Professor McGonagall smiled and leaned back in her chair with the teacup cradled in her hands. “I’m honored, Miss Granger, but you still haven’t gotten to the point.” She arched one brow and took a sip of her tea.

“Last week I was called into my boss’s office at the Ministry and offered a promotion. I’ve been working for that position since my first month. I was told I’d have to work for at least ten years to be trusted with it, but I managed it in five. To do that I had to dedicate all of my time and talents to work. It was a major source of contention in my relationship with Ron Weasley after Hogwarts until we finally broke up. In fact, it’s sabotaged most of my relationships since, but I thought I was serving the greater good and making a real difference there. I was proud of what I was accomplishing, even though I wasn’t helping people the way I first thought I’d be.” 

“You should be proud. Most of the articles on your efforts in the paper were so glowing we could use them to teach lumos charms,” McGonagall teased gently.

Taking a sip of tea to wet her throat, Hermione gave her a quick smile. “Thank you. With all that being said, here’s where I need some advice. Most of the people I know think I’ve gone mental because, well, at that moment when they offered me the promotion,” Hermione took a deep breath and tangled her hands together in her lap, “I quit.”

Professor McGonagall almost dropped her teacup, sloshing her robes in the process. “You quit? Did I hear you correctly, lass?”

A burble of uncomfortable laughter escaped Hermione as she turned to watch the students outside the window gathering over by the shore of the Great Lake with blankets and books. “Yes, I know. It seems crazy to me too and I was the one who did it. At that moment I got this overwhelming feeling that I was meant to serve and protect our people in a different way, that the work I was doing was good but that it wasn’t the best use of my gifts, and that I was desperately needed elsewhere. I pride myself on being logical but at that moment the feelings were overwhelming and instead of accepting the promotion I quit the job entirely. Harry wrote that he believes me and I should trust my instincts, but I’m scared that I’m ruining my life.” 

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and forced back the tears trying to escape her swimming eyes. “After all, Harry hasn’t seen me in over four months, the longest we’ve ever been separated since starting school at eleven. I miss him like crazy. I never miss Ron or my family like this, even when we only see each other a few times a year. Maybe I am going crazy. Maybe I did ruin my life.”

“I see.” Refreshing Hermione’s teacup, McGonagall slid it over. “Drink another cuppa and let’s talk this over.”

Inhaling the curling steam, Hermione took a bracing drink and looked to the Professor for wisdom. 

“While I can’t say whether quitting was a good or bad decision, I can tell you that there’s no need to be so dramatic. You haven’t ruined your life. You are much too young, intelligent, and hard working to not bounce back from this, even if the trajectory of that bounce is currently unknown.”

“Right, thank you professor,” Hermione nodded, silently repeating the words to herself. 

Looking out the window, a pensive look came over McGonagall’s face. “I’ve had several pivotal moments in my life where I’ve been forced to choose between logic and emotion, between what seems good for the present and good for the future. I’m still not sure that I’ve always chosen correctly, but I do know that none of those choices ever ruined my life because I refused to let them do so.” She turned and looked Hermione straight in the eye. “I trust that the brightest witch of her age is wise enough to do the same.”

Blushing and straightening her spine in her chair, Hermione nodded. “Of course, Professor. I’ll make sure to remember that.” She popped a biscuit in her mouth before she said something embarrassing.

“As for your missing Harry, you always were exceptionally close to him both during and after school. I don’t gamble, but if I did, I’d have lost a lot of money over the years on whether the two of you would end up romantically involved, not that there’s anything wrong with a close platonic friendship, of course.”

“Harry is my good friend and only my friend.” Putting down her teacup with a sharp click, Hermione rubbed at the tearing sensation in her chest and grimaced. “At least that’s what I always tell people. It’s hard to think about changing that, hard to think about even talking about it,” she centered her toe in the blue circle on the floor and gave a humorless laugh, “but it hurts even more to think about not changing and losing him.” Pushing back her chair, Hermione rose to her feet and faced the window to gain her composure. 

The students outside lounged on their blankets reading and playing. A Gryffindor girl of about fifteen with blond curls and a Slytherin boy with slicked back brown hair were arguing over something and pointing fingers at each other. The fact that it wasn’t wands was frankly a bit startling, though maybe her experience with Draco Malfoy wasn’t as normal as she’d always thought. She gave a half-smile as the girl stooped over, picked up a half-eaten apple off her blanket, and threw it at the boy’s head. He batted away the apple and stormed off. “They’re so young. I don’t remember ever feeling so young and carefree.”

Joining her at the window, McGonagall chucked under her breath. “They do seem to get younger and younger every year, but the truth is that we all are just getting older. I can promise that you were just as young and small once, though I don’t know if many of us were really allowed to be carefree during those years with Voldemort running loose. I don’t think we can ever fully repay Harry for what he did for us, allowing us to raise and teach these children in relative peace.”

“Their innocence deserves to be protected,” Hermione agreed. A sudden swell of emotion filled her core, just like when she’d been offered a promotion in the Ministry and felt she should walk away instead. The feeling was pushing her to stay. “I should do that.”

“I think you’ve lost me.” Professor McGonagall examined her curiously.

“Whatever I’m supposed to be doing, I think I’ll figure it out quicker here at Hogwarts. I’d like to help protect the students for a while by taking over your vacant Defence Against the Dark Arts position. I can submit a resume if you need one of Dark wizards I’ve fought against over the years,” she offered seriously. “In the interest of full disclosure, I still sometimes struggle to cast the Patronus charm if I haven’t practiced it recently.”

Laughing, Professor McGonagall turned and leaned against the wall. “Miss Granger, I am more than aware of your accomplishments and would be delighted to have you on staff for however long you are willing to teach. However,” she held up a finger sternly, “you must promise to give me more notice than an owl when you choose to move on.”

“I will, I promise,” Hermione said, a rush of excitement lifting her mood for the first time in days. 

“And...” McGonagall added with a dramatic pause, forcing Hermione to drag her eyes away from the sparkling waters of the Great Lake outside the window, where for a moment she thought she’d seen a glowing woman staring up at her from the surface of the waves.

“Yes?”

“You should let me help you achieve your animagus form. I have a feeling it’s closer than you think and will serve you well in the future. Agreed?”

“Oh, thank you, Professor. I would love to learn that,” Hermione told her with a wide grin. For the first time in months, she felt like something good was happening.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry threw a handful of Floo powder into the hearth and cleared his throat to make sure his voice didn’t crack. When the flames turned green, he spoke clearly, hoping he didn’t leave anything out, “Europe, Great Britain, Scotland, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, DADA Professor Hermione Granger’s office.” The flames crackled, froze, and jerked, trying to forge a connection over the long distance from Japan to Britain.

Considering how Harry had sacrificed his dignity and respectfully but adamantly gone against the Center’s advice by testing his mental shields at the Ambassador’s packed birthday party to gain enough favor to access to the man’s International Floo, Hermione better be by her hearth right now. He only had a small window of opportunity. She’d described her teaching schedule in great detail in her letters, so if she chose today of all days to deviate from it he was going to privately throw a tantrum and break something. 

Hartford, Harry’s spirit animal, was just as excited to see Hermione as Harry. Manifesting in the physical world as a stag, he put his head over Harry’s shoulder and leaned, making Harry almost face-plant into the green fire just as it finally connected. His head popped through to the other side. 

Spitting out ashes, Harry saw Hermione for the first time in almost six months. He couldn’t help but drink in the sight. She was leaning back in her chair with her boots up on the desk, reading a scroll held over her head. Harry felt the middle of his chest go hot and his throat tight. Letters weren’t enough. He’d missed her desperately. 

Picking up a quill absently, she began to write and stopped, realizing it was a sugar quill. She tapped it against her mouth, licked her lips, and sucked the end into her mouth with a happy little hum that made Harry grin. The sunlight from the window brought out honeyed highlights in her hair and the gleam of her pursed lips, reminding him of a favorite fantasy that started with tangling his hands in her curls and lifting her face to lick sugar crystals from her plump bottom lip. 

Feeling hot under the collar for reasons besides having his head in a fire, Harry felt a sharp nip on his ear as Hartford silently reminded him to slow down and not scare Hermione off before they’d even gotten to say hello.

Obviously dissatisfied by whatever she was reading, Hermione scrunched her nose up and harrumphed, an unattractive expression that he found completely adorable. It reinforced his plan to figure out what she wanted so he could give it to her and see every turn of her face on a more permanent basis as soon as he returned to Britain. His new Guide gifts were the key to the plan.

Hermione’s contradictions had been driving him crazy for years. She said they were only friends, but she checked him out more than she checked out library books, which was _ a lot _ . Friends didn’t watch each other’s lips that closely, much less zone out on your rear end when you bent over. When other women flirted with him, she got territorial and handsy (something he’d taken advantage of a time or two). She was always hugging him and never sat in a chair if curling up against his side on the couch was an option, breathing in his scent and humming in satisfaction. It had gotten to the point where he couldn’t change personal potions without her approval because she made it silently but completely clear when she didn’t like a new scent. She always hated his girlfriends too, volleying between ignoring them, fake politeness, and hostile jealousy. Hadn’t she airily announced that he was more important than any other man in her life and broken up with her boyfriend in favor of Harry?

Yet every time he tried to talk to her about advancing their relationship she said the same thing: “Harry is my good friend and only my friend.” Always in the third person too while not meeting his eyes. She never even said  _ you _ . Just  _ Harry _ . It drove him bonkers.

It made managing his expectations for their relationship almost impossible. Harry didn’t want to push for more than Hermione was willing to give, but it felt like she wanted more but just wouldn’t let herself take it. He was determined to find out why. He didn’t know if she was lying to him or to herself, but now that he could sense emotions he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Putting down the sugar quill, Hermione grabbed a real one, dipped it in ink, and scrawled a note in the margins of the essay she was grading before tossed it onto her desk.

“Hello Hermione.” 

“Ah!” Hermione jumped in surprise, her chair falling backwards and taking her with it, revealing shapely calves and the dimples behind her knees before she disappeared from view with a clatter.

Unable to help himself, Harry burst into laughter.

Popping up with a prominent scowl and curls covering her eyes, Hermione pointed her wand at his head in the fire. Flinging back her hair, already halfway through an  _ Aguamenti _ spell, she met his eyes and abruptly stopped, lowering her wand. 

“Harry?!” She blinked at him and tucked an errant curl behind her ear, her wand drifting to the side but not lowering yet.

“Don’t put the fire out!” he said through a voice still trembling with laughter. “Sorry to startle you. I got permission to use the official International Floo connection again. If you put the fire out I probably won’t be able to call you back.” What he had agreed to do at the Ambassador’s party to get permission for this one call would hopefully for the sake of his dignity be quickly forgotten. “How’s it going?” He grinned, happy just to be talking to her again after far too long of making do with only letters.

“Sorry, I thought you were Ron and George pranking me again.” She lowered her wand and cocked her head to the side, moving closer. “It’s so wonderful to see you again, but...did—did you know that you have antlers now? Do they only appear in the Floo as a reflection of your animal affinity or in your normal life too? I mean, I’m sure I can pay someone to raise the ceilings and doorframes on my cottage but, well, the books I found never mentioned... is that normal for Guides who come Online? Will the antlers get bigger over the months and then shed? Are you going to go into rut like normal ungulates?” Hermione looked far too fascinated for his peace of mind.

“What? No!” Harry huffed, sending up a plume of ash and sparks. Reaching behind himself, he grabbed an antler and yanked. “The antlers belong to Hartford, my spirit guide. I got him to physically manifest recently. He’s great!” The stag moved around Harry and shrank until he was small enough to fit his entire body into the hearth, prancing and rearing in the flames for Hermione like a total showoff.

“Oh, he’s so handsome,” Hermione cooed, making Harry feel a bit jealous. “He looks just like your patronus. I should’ve guessed based on how the patronus charm and the animagus spell were both developed by a Sentinel using her unique connection to and perspective of animal affinities and the astral plane.”

“Huh, I only learned about that when I asked how almost everyone at the Kamiya Sentinel and Guide Center could do such advanced spells considering the rates of use in Britain. I had to endure a lecture on how much better Japanese schools and Centers supposedly are than those in Europe and how Britain in particular disrespects its magical ancestors by neglecting the teaching of the animagus spell and patronus charm. They were almost insultingly surprised that I knew how to cast a corporeal Patronus. I didn’t realize the spells’ origins were general knowledge. ”

“Oh, Minerva told me about it. One of her Sentinel ancestors invented the spells.”

Harry could feel his eyes widening. “Minerva? She really lets you call her that? Without taking house points?”

Gigging, Hermione knelt down on the rug by the fire and leaned forward on her hands. “She insisted on Minerva when we’re off the clock, actually. She’s become more of a friend than a teacher since I started working here, which is nice, especially because she’s also tutoring me in how to achieve my animagus form.”

“That’s great, though I don’t know if I’d ever be able to call her anything but Professor, especially when she purses her lips and looks at me over her spectacles.” Harry mimed the look, making Hermione snort and glance guiltily over her shoulder to make sure her office door was closed.

Harry shifted on his knees, grateful for the permanent cushioning charm the minister had installed on the flagstones around the hearth. “And how is your animagus form coming along?”

“Slowly.” Hermione frowned. “I’ve been meditating daily to meet my animal form. I know it's an otter for sure, which considering the shape of my patronus isn’t much of a surprise. At least all of that meditating is helping me sleep a little better and reduced the number of headaches and rashes I’ve been plagued with since you left.”

“That’s good. So what’s the problem then?”

Hermione made a disgruntled face and leaned back to look out the window at the students playing on the banks of the Great Lake. “I don’t know. I feel like something is blocking me from taking that next step. I’ve managed to get my right arm to change, but nothing else. As you can imagine, I looked completely ridiculous as a human witch with a fuzzy otter arm.”

“Well, it can’t be as bad as the time you got Mrs. Norris’s hair in your polyjuice potion and turned into a furry cat-woman.”

“Moving on,” Hermione interjected with a glare that made Harry want to laugh, “how’s your form coming along?”

“Ridiculously well,” Harry smirked. “My connection to Hartford really helps. As you know, I tried and failed repeatedly over the years, but in the last month the transformation has become almost effortless. The books don’t have it quite right. It’s more than just figuring out the animal you have the greatest affinity for and picturing yourself in that form, it’s accepting that the animal is both a mirror of your inner self and a pull on your actions. As we make them more human they can make us more instinct driven. The tension and release in that is important, at least it was for me.”

Hermione nodded her head slowly. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. I’ll see if it makes a difference on my next attempt.” 

A trio of Gryffindors zipped past her open window on their brooms, sending a rush of wind through the office that knocked several scrolls off her desk. Each girl held a suspiciously bulging sack. The curly-haired blond in the lead cut her hand through the air and they angled towards the section of grass covered by Slytherin green blankets. “Though we’ll see when that is considering how busy the students keep me.” 

Harry couldn’t see what happened next, but it was easy enough to guess when a chorus of shrieks drifted through the window a second later. The students on the green blankets jumped to their feet, sending a barrage of spells after the whooping Gryffindor girls on brooms. Seeing all that green reminded him, “Are the Slytherins still giving you trouble? Especially that Lestrange boy?”

“Adonis Lestrange?” Hermione snorted, shaking her head at the students outside. “No, he’s too busy fighting and pretending not to flirt with Melanie Richardson, that curly-haired Gryffindor who just flew past the window. She’s a chaser on the Quidditch team and my best fifth-year student in DADA. The betting in the staff lounges on when they’ll finally break down and snog each other silly is getting fierce, though they do have house rivalry and the Lestrange family tradition of only dating and marrying pureblood cousins standing in their way. I have a galleon down on Richardson snapping during finals and firmly seducing Lestrange over to the light side by yule of next year.

“I don’t trust the Lestrange family, especially not around you,” Harry glowered.

“Adonis is just a boy,” she said dismissively. “He was irritating at first, but he’s settled down after the day he goaded me into losing my temper and grinding his inaccurate and illogical opinions into dust, followed by a class lecture on ethics and protecting those that can’t protect themselves that culminated in me showing the entire fifth-year class my scars and explaining exactly how I got each one.” 

Harry frowned, always upset when thinking about how many times he’d been forced to see her bleed. 

Hermione gave him a soft look. “It’s fine. I think it was more than the kid bargained for, especially seeing and hearing about the horrible and Dark things his family members did during the war. It seems he’s been sheltered from a lot of that. In fact, the fifth-years are the first class to attend after Voldemort was defeated, so in some ways they’re all sheltered from what we had to endure. I got a bit carried away and forgot to censor myself, which freaked some of them out. Everyone was so quiet and well-behaved for the rest of that class period that I half-suspected they’d been behavior-charmed when I wasn’t looking. I apologized afterwards to Minerva for traumatizing the class, but she told me it was probably a good dose of reality.” Hermione shook her head. “The younger years are even worse for how innocent they are. More than half think that the tales of what happened while you and I attended are pure exaggeration.”

“If we hadn’t gone through it I’d think half of it was exaggerated too,” Harry said, “which is why I worry about you not getting the respect you deserve.”

Hermione shrugged. “I’ve gotten two howlers from his mother, but Adonis is actually getting better. He shows up to the optional lessons where I’ve been teaching advanced topics like the patronus charm and has stopped with the snide digs at me during class. I even caught him reading a book I recommended about the politics surrounding the recent war.”

Brow furrowing, Harry stared at her. “It sounds like you’re starting to like the kid.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose and nodded bashfully. “I know. It feels weird to like a Slytherin, especially one who still reminds me of a dark-haired Draco Malfoy half the time, but he’s become attentive in class and entertains me and most of the staff with his star-crossed crush on a Gryffindor. As a teacher it’s hard not to see that they’re all just kids trying to learn or—alternatively—not be caught sleeping in class, regardless of their house colors.”

“Except during quidditch games,” Harry frowned at her repressively. “If I find out you aren’t cheering for Gryffindor, I’m going to be horrified and very disappointed.”

Chuckling, Hermione shook her head. “Don’t worry, I’m still a red and gold girl at heart. I’d be fired. Or worse! Glared at by Minerva and assigned back-to-back chaperone duties on Hogsmeade Weekends.”

“Well good,” Harry said just as Hartford gave him a poke in the arm and a speaking look before disappearing. Clearing his throat, Harry put on a casual expression. “Did you get the gifts I sent?”

To his delight, Hermione looked down and her cheeks turned a beguiling pink. “Oh yes, thank you so much. The—the scarf was wonderful.”

“Just the scarf?” he prompted softly. Hermione’s cheeks and forehead went bright red, which made Harry wish desperately that he could sense emotions through the floo system the way better trained Guides could supposedly do.

“I enjoyed the pictures of you too. Very much. The bubble bath and lotion were also lovely. They almost smell like you used to.” She bit her lip as if to stop whatever she was about to say next. 

Harry really wanted to know what she’d been going to say. He’d gotten a Sentinel to help him pick out the products for his campaign to start wooing his friend into becoming his lover. The blushing was a good sign at least. “I’m glad they got to you safely. The ship captain I paid to take the package to Hogwarts seemed a bit… of a character, but he promised the fastest delivery.”

“He was shifty is what he was,” Hermione wrinkled her nose and gestured out the window. “His ship burbled up in the middle of the Great Lake over there like it was the return of Durmstrang all over again, except his ship was a lot less nice and the hull seemed infested with several somethings. Minerva and I are expecting a complaint from the merpeople any day now about either an invasive species or toxic substance left behind by the ship’s visit. The place where they anchored already has sickening plants.” 

She gestured to a spot near the shore Harry could barely see from his position in the fireplace. The plants there did seem more yellow-brown than green. A Slytherin boy with a green scarf was pacing on the shore nearby, obviously in a strop.

“Well, at least he kept his word. Otherwise you’d have had to wait another week or more for your gifts.”

“I suppose, but he was very strange. He dropped off the gifts for me and those teas and the lucky cat statue for Minerva—who loved them by the way—at the front door without a word to anyone and disappeared with Hagrid to the Hog’s Head for the rest of the night. He and his crew almost drank the pub dry. By the next morning, he and his ship were gone and Hagrid nursing a hangover that made him late to teach his first class.” Hermione clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Hagrid barely kept his balance or wits during his lesson and had to go lay down and nap for the rest of the morning.” 

“Speaking of balance,” Harry took a slow breath to calm his suddenly racing heart, “I need to ask you a question.” 

“Sure,” Hermione said, smiling at him warmly. 

Nervous, Harry licked his lips. The moment stretched as he gathered up his courage and hoped for a better outcome. 

Brow wrinkling, Hermione's eyes drifted outside the window. She frowned and cocked her head to the side, as if listening to something.

Harry cleared his throat. She looked back at him and then flicked her eyes to the open window again. He would’ve preferred her full attention, but he didn’t have a lot of time left on the International Floo call before he’d be kicked off by the Ambassador’s staff. He’d have to work with what he had. “As you probably know, both Sentinels and Guides function best when they can balance their senses, empathic or physical, on a partner.”

“Umhmm?” Hermione went up on her knees and arched her neck to better see outside the window.

“And I know you’ve said you’re not a Sentinel….”

“Uh huh?” Hermione stood up, still focused outside the window. “Not a Sentinel, just observant. That’s what I always say, but with more formal articles. Why? Who knows? Not me. Right now I’m observing something strange, I’m just not sure what it means,” she muttered.

Harry couldn’t see anything odd from his position in the fire. He decided to forge on with his question. “Yes, well, Hermione, please pay attention.” Taking a quick breath to make his tone less sharp, he said, “Look, I… I love you and you seem to love me and my teachers think I’ve been unconsciously balancing my empathic senses on you for years which is why I came Online and blew wide open so explosively and since we seem to prefer to see as much of each other as possible when we’re in the same country, which we hopefully will be very soon, I was hoping you’d agree to see more of me for the rest of our days and bond with me and be my partner,” Harry said in a rush. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. It seems like we might both like that. A lot.”

Jumping forward with a gasp, Hermione shoved open the window and leaned out. “Merlin preserve us, I think Adonis Lestrange just fell into the water near what looks like a kappa nest. Since when does the Great Lake have kappas? Though I don’t know what else that could be. I have to go!” 

Rushing to the door, she froze, spun on her heel, and pointed a finger at him. “I’ll answer you later when I can pay better attention to your question and actually say what I want to say, but what do you mean by all those  _ seems _ ? Even before you came Online you must’ve been Sensitive and unconsciously picking up on other people’s emotions. You have to know how I feel about you. Don’t sound so uncertain!”

Stung, Harry opened his mouth to reply, but before he could she pulled out her wand, spun on her heel, and disappeared out the door in a run. With nothing else to do he pulled his head out of the fire and told himself he’d just have to wait to hear about what happened with the kappa. Harry hated waiting and hated being left out of the action. He also hated not getting any answers. If anyone was watching from the other side of the veil, they must surely be laughing at him.


	6. Chapter 6

Skidding around a corner, Hermione raced for the outside doors closest to her office. She slammed them open and almost bowled over a group of Ravenclaws about to come inside. “Get help, Great Lake!” she cried, shoving through and almost tripping on a dragging blue scarf. 

Hermione sprinted for the part of the lakeshore where she’d seen Adonis Lestrange fall into the water near a kappa nest. Rounding a tree, she focused on the water in the distance, her vision somehow zooming in until she could see a scaly hand attached to a kappa’s ugly, monkey-like face. The kappa jumped at Adonis, disappearing with him behind a tall clump of vegetation. She could hear the boy fighting for his life, only getting off a single spell before words turned to grunts and cries mixed with splashes. Each of the boy’s gasping little breaths fell on her ears like stinging thorns. 

She tried to apparate closer, but she was still too close to the school’s anti-apparition wards for it to work. The magical recoil hit her like a slap and she staggered for a few steps before regaining her pace. Her vision jolted back to normal, showing the grass beneath her feet and the shore still too far away.

There was a loud splash and Adonis’s breathing disappeared. The sounds of struggle became muted. The kappa must’ve pulled him underwater. There wasn’t much time left before she would be too late. The kappa could crush Adonis’s throat even before he ran out of air.

Muscles and lungs burning, Hermione at last approached the shore. She couldn’t see where Adonis had disappeared in the clump of sickly yellow water reeds. The water looked dark and murky with decaying vegetation, the kappa’s preferred habitat. 

Angling her steps to the left where her magic felt sweeter and stronger, Hermione pointed her wand and cast a firework spell she’d learned from the Weasley twins years ago. The spell exploded out from her wand in streaks of red and gold. Made from conjured bits of burning metal, the lights penetrated the vegetation and stayed lit both above and below the water long enough to illuminate the shadowy forms of Adonis and the kappa locked in a deadly struggle. Adonis had managed to lock his hands around the kappa’s wrists and was keeping its hands away from his throat, but he was obviously weakening.

Only as Hermione jumped into the water did she remember that kappa rarely hunted alone. Just because she hadn’t seen more than one didn’t mean she only had one to deal with. 

Water at the level of her chest, Hermione grabbed Adonis’s arm and yanked him up into the air. As soon as his head breached the surface he took in a desperate gasp of air and started coughing hard. However, Hermione couldn’t spare him much attention. She was focused on the still dangerous kappa. The boy’s grip slipped as he focused on breathing and the kappa lunged, hands and teeth going for his throat.

There was no time for finesse. Hermione shoved her wand in front of Adonis’s chest and cast a blasting curse, sending the kappa flying back with a splash into a clump of yellow plants. Not taking any chances, she followed it up with a slashing curse, cutting the kappa almost in half. It wasn’t getting up from that. The smell of its blood filled the air and seeped into the water. An alien sensation filled her heart, one of savage victory.

“Professor Granger?” Adonis asked threadily, blinking rapidly and gripping her arm tightly as he wavered in the water. A cut above his eye seeped red and pink down his wet cheek. His panting breaths sounded seconds away from full on sobbing.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” She put an arm around his waist and pulled him closer in the water. It didn’t matter that he was a full head taller than her, broader in the shoulders, and heavier. He was her student and still technically a child. Seeing him hurt made her feel even more protective. 

When she’d been hurt as a student, she’d have given just about anything for an adult to hug her close and promise to take care of her problems. She’d learned early on that she’d have to take care of herself and her friends without appealing to the adults around her. They were too busy focusing on protecting the school from external threats to see much of what was going on inside of it (or sometimes even outside of it).

Adonis was only fifteen. 

Fifteen felt like a lifetime ago. It had been her fourth year of school, since she had an early birthday, and the time of the Triwizard Tournament. Being in the water like this was reminding her of her role as a prize in the second task. She didn’t remember her time underwater, just being in Dumbledore’s office and then waking up on the dock. Her memory was hazy but she’d been told she’d fainted a few minutes later. She’d woken up again in the infirmary, taken a short nap, and returned to her dorm in time to reassure her friends and change for the dinner feast. 

Hermione’s breathing went shallow and the back of her neck prickled painfully, that awful feeling you got when your arm was trapped somewhere and had fallen asleep, only to start waking up when you tried to move it. 

It felt like she was forgetting something… something awful. What was it? She could almost but not quite remember. Pushing against the feeling felt like wading through thick mud.

“What—what was that?” Adonis asked, breaking her from her thoughts and reminding her that she had much more important things to worry about right now than distant memories. Pale-faced, he leaned against her and started to shiver, a combination of shock and the cutting autumn wind. His dark hair lay plastered flat to his skull, making his eyes look huge by comparison.

Wand raised and eyes roving, Hermione began helping him back to shore. The water was up to her chest and the tangling plants wrapped around their legs and waists, making it difficult to move quickly. “That was a kappa, Mr. Lestrange. You should’ve learned about them in third year.”

“They didn’t look that big in the textbook. Or that scary.” He slid on the scum-covered rocks beneath the water and almost tripped, forcing him to dig his fingers into her shoulder and almost submerging both of them. Adonis inhaled water and started coughing violently, almost bending in half. His breathing had a painful wheeze to it by the time he finally stopped. 

Plants rustled at their backs. The water splashed softly in front of them. Left, no, right. She held her breath and listened. Her stomach dropped. It was both left and right. There were at least three kappa surrounding them, maybe more. It felt like a noose tightening. 

Grimly she pulled Adonis closer and tried to push him faster to reach the shore. 

“Professor!” Adonis cried as a scaly kappa surfaced in their path with a loud splash. 

Hermione blasted it back with a spell.

The boy was so focused on watching it that he didn’t notice the one at their back abandoning stealth to rush at them with long fingers extended, nor the one reaching for their legs beneath the water.

Hermione only had a second to decide. With two kappa attacking from different directions and Adonis hanging heavily on her shoulders, Hermione could either defend herself or save her Slytherin student. She couldn’t do both. She might not be able to even do one. 

The choice was simple.

Abruptly shoving off Adonis’s arm and pushing him away, she ignored his cry and whipped her wand around. Speaking as quickly and precisely as possible, she cast a levitation charm on his robes. Adonis shot up into the air, his cry turning into a strangled yelp as his robes constricted his throat. Water streamed from his body and over Hermione’s face. 

Cutting her wand through the air, ignoring the bitter taste splashing across her tongue, Hermione flung him towards the shore as hard as she could just as long fingers closed around her ankle and yanked, pulling her head under the water and breaking her focus. She could only hope Adonis had landed on dry ground instead of back in the water. She couldn’t help him anymore. 

Right now she had to focus on saving herself. Hermione clamped her mouth shut against the brown water and kicked at the kappa holding her captive with her other leg. It didn’t let go. Gritting her teeth, she kicked harder, aiming for its face and arms. A bubble escaped her mouth. She could taste blood in the dark water. It could’ve been human or kappa. She kicked again and one arm tore away, but the kappa refused to release her leg, twisting away from the return of her boot and dragging her out into deeper and darker water.

Something thin slid around her neck. Distracted by fighting the kappa on her leg, she dismissed it as a water plant until multiple things slid over her throat from both sides and squeezed hard. Panicked, Hermione scrambled at the new kappa’s hands, trying to pry them loose before it crushed her throat. Bubbles raced from her mouth and floated over her face, distorting her vision. The distant light overhead formed the shape of an otter. 

Stubbornly clamping shut her mouth against the urge to suck in something for her starving lungs, she panicked, jabbing her wand into the scaly body pressed against her back and silently wishing it _GONE_. A jolt of magic left her core. The kappa jerked hard. Seconds later, the fingers slid away from her tortured neck. 

Before she could celebrate, the hand on her ankle stopped yanking her forward and sharp teeth sank into the meat of her leg. A scream escaped her, sending a torrent of bubbles out of her mouth she couldn’t afford to lose. She beat at the kappa’s head with weakening fists. Her wand started to slip from her hand but she forced her fingers to tighten. 

Hermione felt dizzy. The lack of air was becoming urgent. Glowing spots filled her vision. 

Abruptly the pain and panicked feeling of drowning disappeared like a snuffed flame.

Confused, she saw the glowing spots in the water coalesce into a strange, underwater woman. The area became bright. Hermione got an overwhelming feeling of deja vu, like she should know the woman somehow. The woman—no... the _Lady_ —had short, moss green hair, grey river rock eyes, brown trout skin with faint black spots on her cheeks and brow, and pink water lily lips. Sheets of ice formed her robes. Glancing down, Hermione saw an otter cradled in the lady’s arms and a sword belted around her waist. The sword looked familiar too but blurry, as if a double-image superimposed on itself. 

“Free yourself and then free the others.”

When Hermione’s eyes jumped up, the lady’s features had shifted and changed to something completely new. The otter swam up to hover at her shoulder. The lady bared her teeth in a fierce grin and drew a sword made of ice and starlight. A crisply delineated sword still hung in the sheath at her waist, a sword of myth and legend, but it couldn’t be Excalibur… could it? Because that would make her the Lady of the Lake. Hermione felt a sudden certainty that she had met her before, but when? How?

“Free yourself and then free the others,” the Lady of the Lake repeated. Holding the frozen starlight sword up between them, she let it go and disappeared, relinquishing the water back to shadows. 

Pain and the urgent need for oxygen flooded back through Hermione’s body. She stretched but her fingers just missed the hilt of the sword. The kappa on her leg tightened its jaw and shook its head, sending jolts of agony through her. It was hard to think. Her vision started to tunnel.

The sword floated up towards the surface, gleaming and sharp despite her wavering sight. Her arm strained towards it but the distance was too great and growing with each second. Even after all of that, was she still doomed? 

More bubbles escaped her mouth.

The glowing otter shot past her shoulder and through the bubbles, grabbing the sword and pushing it down until it smacked into Hermione’s hand. As soon as the otter’s fur brushed her skin there was a blinding flash and the otter disappeared. The pain became a little easier to bear.

The sword made her skin burn as if covered in frost. It felt both painful and invigorating, sharpening her vision and her will. Calling upon the last of her strength, Hermione tightened her fingers around the hilt and sliced at the kappa on her leg. Her sword slid across its cheek, causing it’s mouth to rip painfully loose from her leg, but its fingers remained clamped around her mangled ankle. Bringing around the sword, fighting the drag of the water and her own dizziness, she chopped off its arm and then reversed to stab it in the torso. The kappa convulsed and fell away. Already dim water became even harder to see through when you added in blood.

Lungs shrieking, she planted her feet on the rocky bottom, the only way to tell up from down, and pushed up hard, screaming at the pain in her ankle and inhaling water even as she propelled herself towards the surface.

As soon as her head broke the surface she pulled in a deep breath of air. It hurt. Everything hurt. Coughing and hacking, she fought to keep her head above the water. Each breath burned as it rasped down her swollen throat. Eyes rolling wildly, she found the green and tan line of the shore and began awkwardly swimming in that direction, wand and sword clutched in each hand. She refused to relinquish either. Not until she was safe. 

After a minute she noticed people on shore. They were jumping up and down, shouting and waving wildly. Her feet hit the bottom. She gave up on her awkward swimming and began doggedly wading forward instead, forcing her injured ankle to bear the pain. At least it didn’t feel broken, but it sure hurt a lot. Somehow she managed to turn down the dial on her pain, muting sensation from the area. She’d have to figure it out later.

Something grabbed at her tangled curls trailing in the water and yanked down. Hermione cried out and teetered, but kept her face from going under again. Hair tore from her head. From the other side long fingers grabbed at her already abused ankle. More fingers swiped at her throat. She dodged, barely avoiding being strangled again. 

Crying out hoarsely in pain and anger, Hermione pressed her wand against the hilt of the sword so she was holding both in two hands and cut them around her body. Resistance disappeared as if the water wasn’t even there. The sword sliced through her attackers like they were soft butter, followed by a burst of shooting stars—no, snowflakes—that exploded out and across the water. The three kappa who’d been attacking her floated to the surface, belly-up. Two more bobbed up several body-lengths away. They were all dead. 

Taking a deep breath, she deliberately submerged herself in the water and instinctively cast out her senses. Her sword glowed with a hard, cold light beneath the water and the underwater plants cast flickering, geometric shadows like snowflakes. Turning in a circle, she searched for more enemies. She sensed that there was at least one more. 

At her back the final kappa burst into motion and dived at her through the water. Hermione turned at the last second and impaled it on her blade. There were children nearby. She couldn’t allow a threat to them to live. She had to protect them. Hermione watched impassively as the light faded from the kappa’s eyes before flicking it off her blade and rising to her feet.

Water streamed from her hair and over her face. Spitting, she pushed her hair back and glanced around. Everything looked crisper. The air smelled stronger. She could hear the pounding of feet and swooshing of brooms coming from the castle. Hermione took a deep breath and continued trekking towards dry land. 

The children on shore were starting to sound a bit hysterical, but she didn’t dare take her eyes from the water to reassure them in case she’d missed another enemy. She turned so her back faced them and her eyes could watch the largest patch of vegetation, which still held some sort of creatures. She could hear the beating of their hearts and feel the slight movement of their fins in the water. They stayed still and hidden, not willing to challenge the apex predator in their midst. 

Slowly she walked backward, sword and wand at the ready. When both feet finally left the lake water and stood upon dry land, the winter starlight abruptly extinguished from the sword in her hand. Within seconds it had melted from her fingers like an icicle in spring and returned to the lake. Staring at her empty hand, Hermione bent and flexed her fingers, missing the feel of the sword already.

“Professor Granger! Professor Granger!” 

Looking up, she found herself mobbed by the students who’d been out on the lawn. Questions bombarded her on every side. It was too much. “Quiet!” she barked, her voice raspy and hurting even more now. “Adonis Lestrange. Where is he?”

A tall Slytherin girl (Marnie Delise? No, De _louse_ ) stood up at the question with an angry frown, revealing the boy in question surrounded by his housemates. “You threw him like a first year with a quaffle and broke his leg!”

“Anything else?” she rasped, looking at the white lines of pain around Adonis’s mouth and the fresh blood trickling from the cut on his brow.

“Isn’t that enough?” snapped Miss Delouse. “I always knew you had a grudge against us! This just proves it. You were just waiting for an excuse.”

Ignoring the girl, Hermione caught Adonis’s eyes and tilted her head silently in question, ignoring the water forming a cold puddle around her feet. She shifted so most of her weight rested on her good leg.

Adonis took a quivering breath and raised his chin. “I’ll be okay,” he said faintly. Followed by an even quieter, “Thank you.” 

No one else seemed to have heard him over the fight breaking out between some of the angriest Slytherins and the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, who were loudly defending their heroic Professor Granger. They were good kids.

However, Adonis’s skin looked bone white and he was shivering so hard his teeth were chattering. 

Hermione frowned sharply and swept her eyes around, causing the arguing students to fall silent. “Instead of arguing, maybe someone should hit Mister Lestrangecast with a warming charm.” 

Miss Delouse stepped in front of Adonis as if to shield him from Hermione’s wand. “Don’t you dare hit him with anything else, you monster!”

“I’ve got it,” called Melanie Richardson as she came dashing up from the direction of the castle. She skidded to her knees next to Adonis and cast the warming charm, pressing a hand to his cheek to check if it worked. “How’s that? Any better?”

The Slytherin girl spun around and sent Melanie a ferocious scowl, but Melanie was too busy staring into Adonis’s wide eyes and turning as red as her scarf to notice. Swallowing hard, Melanie firmed her lips and lifted the edge of her scarf to his brow, dabbing at his bleeding cut. Adonis held still beneath her touch.

It proved to be too much for Miss Delouse, who stalked forward and shoved Melanie back. “That’s enough! We can take it from here.”

Before it could devolve into a fistfight, Professor Flitwick swooped down onto the beach on a broom. “Professor Granger!” he cried, looking between her drenched robes and the prone Adonis. “What in Merlin’s name is going on here?!” The tall form of Professor McGonagall and several other teachers rushed down the hill after him.

Before Hermione could answer, a foul stench drifted from the right. Wrinkling her nose, she cut her eyes over to the nearby forest. Her eyes narrowed. The light didn’t look right and the shadows lay in the wrong orientation, as if recoiling from the feel of the ground. Her skin suddenly felt like she’d waded into a tub full of rotting fruit. She had to swallow hard and breathe shallowly. 

“What?” Flitwick asked, glancing over at the forest and back at her as if nothing was wrong.

“Don’t you feel that?”

“Feel what, Hermione?” McGonagall demanded, puffing from the run. Eyes going wide at the lake behind Hermione’s back, her wand shot up into her hand. “Do those bodies belong to kappa?” Her eyes went hard. “Where my students play? If Hagrid had anything to do with this—”

“I took care of them,” Hermione interrupted in a rough whisper, unable to speak louder against the swelling of her throat. Turning towards the forest, she began limping forward, pulled by instincts she didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore. “It’s wrong. Sick. Poisoned. I have to fix it. Now.”

“What? Wait—what’s wrong in the forest?” McGonagall demanded. “Are there more kappa?”

“Professor Granger, you’re injured.” Flitwick hopped forward, his short legs trotting to try and catch up with her. 

“I have to fix it.”

“Then at least take the broom. Your leg looks mangled. It’s still dripping blood.” Grimacing sympathetically, he held out the broom. 

She pushed it away and kept limping forward, each step making a squelch with her wet boots. “Can’t feel it in the air. Have to be on the ground,” she muttered, turning her head back and forth before deciding on which direction to take to enter the forest. Taking the correct path felt important, the path where even the shadows didn’t want to go.

McGonagall snapped orders to the other students and teachers and then jogged forward to join Hermione and Flitwick as they crunched over dead leaves and entered the edge of the forest. “What are you following? I don’t see a trail.”

“You don’t?” Hermione shot her mentor a quizzical glance before continuing to limp forward. She moved in a zigzag pattern into the forest, always keeping the lake glimmering through the trees on her right. “It’s so strong—the poisoned leyline, can’t be anything else to feel like that.” 

McGonagall and Flitwick both sucked in shocked breaths.

They started talking over each other, demanding answers, but Hermione couldn’t pay attention. She stopped walking and jerked up her wand, clapping her free hand over her mouth and barely controlling the urge to throw up. The two professors at her back stopped talking and lifted their wands into ready positions as they peered around, putting their backs to each other as they tried to find the danger.

“Hermione, just what is going on?” McGonagall sounded frustrated.

Swallowing hard, Hermione lowered her hand and pointed. “There.” As if drawing attention to it suddenly popped some spell, the two teachers looked at where she was pointing and gasped. They covered their noses, faces screwing up in revulsion.

In a depression on the forest floor dappled with too-dark shadows, sickly patches of purple-gray moss, and yellow vines spotted with brown rot lay a small pool of dark, stagnant water. Slimy yellow-white scum ringed the edges. A large blackish-brown bird decayed half-in and half-out of the water, as if it had stopped for a drink and died after a single sip. The white ribcage of a horse curved up from the ground a little farther back. At least, she hoped it was a horse. It could be a unicorn, but Hermione wasn’t going to check the skull to find out. She’d rather not know.

“This place is unclean,” Flitwick murmured in a shaken voice. “Cursed, if I’m not mistaken.”

“It’s gross!” a young voice said. 

“Yeah, totally freaky!”

Hermione belatedly realized that they’d been followed by a group of curious students.

“It looks like the water’s poisoned,” said Melanie Richardson in a subdued voice, half of her attention seemingly fixed on the distant treeline past where a group of teachers and Slytherin students were escorting Adonis Lestrange to the hospital wing. If she kept looking like that, her peers were going to figure out she didn’t really hate him after all.

Looking at the faces around her, Hermione recognized many of them from her advanced tutoring sessions. “How many of you can do the patronus charm?” 

“What’d she say?” asked one of the kids in the back. 

Hermione’s voice was getting quieter the more her throat tissues swelled. Being strangled and almost drowning would do that to you.

“She asked who can do the patronus charm,” Melanie said, turning away from the edge of the woods to raise her hand and look around challengingly. “Well?” Five more students hesitantly raised their hands, all sixth and seventh years. Melanie was the best in the fifth-year class at Defence Against the Dark Arts and probably the only one in her year who’d achieved it.

McGonagall stepped up next to Hermione and lowered her voice. “A Patronus doesn’t traditionally remove curses or poison. It’s a defensive charm, albeit a powerful one. Perhaps we should call for a curse-breaking team from Gringotts or the Department of Mysteries?”

Licking her lips, Hermione shook her head and limped to the side, trying to get a better look at the flow of energy around the pool. “This is my task. I can do it, I just need your help.”

“Why you?” McGonagall sounded frustrated.

Hermione dragged her eyes away from the pool to look at the Headmistress. “Please, trust me.” Catching something from the corner of her eye, she turned back to the pool and limped closer, following her instincts. “For the good of our people, let us stand Sentinel together.”

“Oh!” McGonagall gasped. “Oh my. You’re a….” 

Hermione only distantly noticed her words trailing off, too focused on the sickly pulsing energies oozing around the pool and infecting the leylines connecting out to the lake and castle. She positioned the students and teachers who knew the spell on the strongest ley lines in the area (ignoring the how and why she could suddenly sense them) and snapped at anyone who got impatient and tried to move. Raising her wand into the air, she called for everyone’s attention and fixed a memory of laughing with Harry in her thoughts. “Let us begin. _Expecto Patronum_!”

For the first time ever, Hermione found the Patronus spell easy to cast on the first try. Her otter burst out of her wand, as big, bright, and corporeal as Harry’s. Swimming through the air in a curling loop, her glowing otter gathered up the other patronus animals and led them in a charge at the putrid pond. 

Shadows shattered like broken glass. Rotting plants, decaying skeletons, and decades or more of filth blasted away from the cursed pool. Another charge by the patronus animals uncovered a stone altar banded with rusted iron and carved with arithmancy runes. It looked old and weathered, with the runes so clogged with grime and rotted bloodstains that they’d become hard to read. Everything about it screamed dark magic to Hermione’s senses. 

The aura of evil was so strong that the attack faltered and spirit animals dropped out one by one until only Hermione’s otter remained. When its attacks bounced off the stone altar harmlessly, she grimaced and dismissed her otter with a flick of her wand. 

However, the need to destroy the altar beat at her, a twisting cramp in her gut. Her instincts screamed at her to do something. To rip and tear and shred, to break the altar to pieces in animalistic fury. 

Unable to take the pressure, she gave a hoarse battle cry and charged at the altar, instinctively shifting into her otter animagus form for the first time. Her raspy human cry turned into an animal squeal of rage.

Leaping onto the rock, she attacked it with her claws and teeth, biting and scratching at the evil runes. Two of her claws broke off and her right incisor snapped at the gumline, but she refused to give up. She had to destroy it. She had to protect and free her people. Finding a crack in the rock, she shoved in her claws and her magic and pulled with all her might. Her rear claws scratched furrows over the runes, obscuring their meaning until the magic broke. Her arms strained against the widening fissure in the rock, her magic stretched, and spots overtook her eyes until all she could see was black. The roar of blood filled her ears. 

At last, with a thunderous _CRACK_ that echoed off the trees and made leaves fall like rain and acorns like hail, the altar broke and fell into pieces on either side of her body.

Before Hermione could catch her breath, her otter form was blasted up into the air and slammed down onto her back. The pain sent Hermione back into her human form. Opening her lips to gasp for air, she found her mouth filled with sweet water. Gagging, she turned onto her side, coughing and trying to recover enough to stand.

When she could breathe, she looked up and saw a fountain of scintillating water shooting up into the air. It rose taller than the top of the trees and rained down in a cleansing mist over the entire area. The drops fell to the earth like sweet chimes. The shining water flushed any remaining filth from the ground and formed a glittering pool that swelled until it covered the bottom of Hermione’s boots where she lay on the ground. Not interested in drowning again, she laboriously pulled herself to her feet using the nearest tree as a prop. The new pool created a stream that raced down the forest slope. With a pleased burble the Great Lake welcomed the fountain’s waters. 

Cheering, the students lifted their faces to the fountaining water and opened their mouths, drinking it down. Hermione followed their lead, lifting her mouth and drinking down the magical water. It felt good, soothing slightly the ache in her throat. McGonagall and Flitwick chuckled and followed suit. The boom of Hagrid’s laughter let her know he’d joined them while she’d been distracted. Hermione felt happy and dazed. 

After a few minutes the deluge of water diminished until the glittering fountain reached only to the top of Hagrid’s head.

“Well look at this.” Professor Flitwick brushed away the fresh acorns and leaves at his feet to reveal a plaque at the base of the new fountain. 

McGonagall joined him, kneeling down to read the carved words. “My word, this is The Lady’s Gift!”

“Like in Hogwarts a History?” Hermione rasped, unable to muster the energy to walk over and see it herself, no matter how much she wanted to. 

“Yes, the very same!” McGonagall said.

“It was thought lost for these two hundred years or more. How exciting!” Flitwick bounced on his feet, wet mustache flapping.

Smiling in agreement, McGonagall reached out and traced the letters on the plaque. “A gift indeed. It was once said that if you drink from the fountain and are judged worthy by the Lady of the Lake, she will awaken Sentinel and Guide gifts to help you protect the land and bless you and your children with increased magical strength,” looking over at Hermione she tilted her head, “consequently also preventing squibs for at least three generations. Drinking it was mandatory for purebloods.”

“Don’t forget,” Flitwitck added, “both Muggles and Magicals wanting to be kings and rulers would find their way to the fountain and drink to be judged worthy to rule and receive their own gifts. The fountain didn’t care about so-called blood status, just character.”

“Indeed,” McGonagall nodded. “Neither Grindelwald or Voldemort would have gotten as far if we’d had a robust population of Sentinels and Guides in both Magical and Muggle Britain as in days of old, not to mention fountain-blessed Ministers of Magic and other politicians. What a treasure for both Hogwarts and Magical Britain!”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed with great satisfaction. She gave a slow blink. Resting her cheek against the tree keeping her standing, she saw Melanie Richardson jerk and turn to look towards the castle, eyes going unfocused. Nostrils flaring, the Gryffindor tucked her dripping blond curls behind her ears and cocked her head to the side. Suddenly she sucked in her breath. “My Guide,” she growled, taking off at a run out of the forest.

“Oh dear.” McGonagall looked after her and sighed. “I suppose she just came Online and is going to claim her Guide up at the castle.”

“I bet you ten to one it’s the Lestrange boy,” Flitwick chortled.

“No bet,” Hermione whispered past the swelling of her throat, smiling even though she was going to lose money in the staff betting pool.

“But he’s a Slytherin! She can’t bond with Lestrange!” cried one of the other Gryffindors. 

His loud voice shot through her head like a thunderbolt and left her with a crippling headache and shaky legs. In fact, everything was getting a little shaky. And painful. And too much. The strength left her body and she felt like a spectator as she watched herself collapse, her face scraping down the tree and gouging open skin. Falling forward onto her hands, she dropped her head and sucked in air, trying to find her center in a world that had abruptly become too much. She felt a brief moment of pride at keeping hold of her wand despite her collapse. Then her elbows gave out, her face hit wet moss, and everything went black.

* * *

After his floo call to Hermione ended so abruptly, Harry tried not to brood. It was difficult. 

What did she even mean by her parting words? If he knew how she really felt he wouldn’t be asking over and over. Obviously she loved him, but in what way? As a brother? A lover? She hadn’t said no to his proposal… but she hadn’t said yes either.

And what had happened with the student getting attacked by a kappa? Would Hermione have to fight the creature? Would she be okay?

Of course she’d be okay. She had to be. Hermione was smart and tough. She’d survived fighting dark wizards. She’d broken school rules countless times without getting caught or even serving detention. She should be able to take out a kappa easily. Or even a group of kappa. Right?

That night Harry didn’t even bother changing into his nightclothes. A dark foreboding filled his heart. He knew he wouldn’t be sleeping. He wished he was in Scotland with Hermione. He wished he knew what was going on. Restless, he paced the gardens and grounds of the Kamiya Center. Several Guides sought him out, trying to soothe the maelstrom of anxiety and fear he couldn’t keep from leaking past his mental shields, but nothing could help him for long but the sure knowledge that Hermione was alright.

The next day, Harry waited until the sun rose and walked instead of floo travelled over to pick up his mail from the British Embassy downtown. He was too restless to wait for the delivery owl and too wound up, even without any sleep. The post witch handed over his daily letter from Hermione with a smile. Harry passed her the letter he’d penned in return along with the international postage and went outside to read. 

Sitting down on the steps, he opened the heavily stamped envelope. The letter was dated from the week before, but it still gave him comfort to read Hermione’s words about her day and see her familiar handwriting. She always made sentences ending with the letter _y_ or _g_ extra loopy. Holding it to his nose, he imagined he could smell a hint of her perfume on the pages.

“ _Shitsurei shimasu, Britain no Potter-san desu ka_?”

Harry looked up to see a young Japanese wizard in pink and blue patterned robes clutching a wide-brimmed straw hat in front of his chest and fidgeting from foot to foot in traditional wooden sandals. He carried a large bag of scrolls over one shoulder.

“Um, yes? I mean, _hai, Potter Harry desu_.” Harry bowed his head politely.

“ _Ano... kyo no shinbun wo mimashita ka_?”

Harry winced. “ _Sumimasen_ , I still don’t speak much Japanese. I don’t understand. English? _Eigo?_ ”

Biting his lip, the wizard brushed dark hair behind his ear and looked around as if for help, but they were the only two people currently in front of the embassy. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and reached into his robes. “ _Kyo no..._ paper? Your—your woman?” The man pulled out what looked like a newspaper and passed it to Harry with a bow.

Harry couldn’t read the headline, but as soon as he unfolded the paper and saw the photo on the front page he felt like his heart stopped. 

“Your woman?” he distantly heard the man ask again. 

The central picture showed a sobbing Hagrid bursting out of the Forbidden Forest and rushing towards Hogwarts. He cradled Hermione in his arms. She looked so small. So fragile. Her eyes were closed and her head hung limply over Hagrid’s arm, dark curls bouncing as he ran. Red scratches marred half her deathly white face, dark purple finger-marks circled her throat, and a bloody bite mark circled her swollen leg. Water dripped from her body and left dark patches on Hagrid’s clothes. 

You couldn’t tell from the picture if she was still breathing. You couldn’t tell if she was alive.

Hermione had to be alive.

Harry wanted to reach into the picture and pull Hermione into his arms, wanted to feel her heart beating beneath her skin and feel the rise and fall of her chest. He wanted it so hard his fingers ached where they clenched on the tearing newsprint. But he was half a world away and this picture and its horrible events had taken place hours and hours ago.

Standing abruptly, vision going razor-sharp, Harry tossed a coin to the Japanese wizard in payment for the paper and marched back into the embassy to get someone to translate the article for him.

* * *

An hour later he shook off the diplomats trying to argue with him to stay, said a brief farewell to his teachers at the Kamiya Center, and bought a ticket for the first international portkey heading west. He refused to even think about what he’d do if Hermione wasn’t still alive when he finally got back to Britain. She had to be alive. She just had to be. 

If it was otherwise…? An abyss gaped open at his feet. He couldn’t think about that. Wouldn’t believe it. Not unless he had to.

When the portkey shattered beneath the force of his grip, Harry ignored the uneasy stares and paid the fine without protest. He slipped in a few extra coins on both ends of the trip to bribe the official to look the other way when Harry joined in on the next portkey right away instead of waiting the usual four to six hours of recovery between international hops. Harry didn’t care how many times he threw up or passed out on this trip if it could get him to Hermione’s side that much faster. 

Harry was going to Britain and he was demanding answers. No one would be allowed to stop him. Over the years he’d been careful to keep his adult powers restrained, preferring to live quietly as much as possible after his tumultuous youth. Since his magical core hadn’t fully matured until a few years after he fought Voldemort, no one knew the full extent of his power, not even himself. Harry had never been tempted to use that power until now. If he met a locked door on his way to Hermione, he was going to blow it down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story's word count is expanding (as often happens to me). I have everything plotted to the end, but it's looking more like 45k words now, maybe 50k. Some people cut things when they edit. I try to cut and end up adding new sections. Sigh. But I hope you enjoy it! I enjoy exploring emotions and hurt/comfort, as you can tell, but the ending will be very happy, I guarantee. The big revelations are going to finally start in the next chapter. Yay!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m behind on answering reviews, sorry. But thank you so much to everyone commenting!!! My kids just started school and things are anxious and crazy. In this chapter we finally start uncovering Dumbledore’s manipulations. I have a picture of a dress that inspired Hermione’s wine red robes. I’ll post it on my tumblr. The chapter turned out to be way too long, so I had to split it into two chapters. Ugh. The bigger reveal is in the next chapter, which I’ll post soon. It just needs one more edit.

When Hermione woke up, she saw the familiar vaulted ceiling of Hogwarts’ hospital wing. What did it say about her school years that she could place herself with a single glance? The quality of light led her to believe it was already mid-morning. There had to be students who made it all seven years without ever ending up in a bed here, didn’t there? Not any of her friends, but surely someone in the history of the school.

Sitting up, she found it strangely quiet. Since she’d started teaching, the castle had never been this quiet, even in her private rooms with the door and windows shut. It was unnerving to not hear anything but herself. 

An old-fashioned wooden screen carved with stylized animals and worn almost smooth with age blocked her bed off from the rest of the room. Despite her many infirmary visits, Hermione had never seen it before. Students needing privacy usually just had their bed curtained off.

The memory of saving Adonis Lestrange from the kappa and waking the fountain rose to the front of her mind, as if waiting for her to wake up enough to deal with it. Hadn’t she seen something strange under the water too while almost drowning? Her otter patronus and a woman with a sword? Who obviously had to be… Hermione drew a sudden blank. She knew the woman… didn’t she? Trying to grasp the memory proved to be surprisingly difficult. It kept slipping away as she forgot what she was trying to remember or why, until she couldn’t remember if she’d seen anything in the water at all except the boy and the kappa. What else could there have been? The events around the fountain also became vague the longer she was awake and made her feel dizzy when she tried to bring them into focus.

Hadn’t she been strangled and bit on the leg during her fight with the kappa? Those memories, at least, felt unfortunately vivid. Reaching up, she ran her fingers over her neck and hissed softly. The skin felt extremely tender. However, it wasn’t swollen and no longer hurt to breathe or swallow. She tossed back the sheet and pulled up the familiar hospital gown to examine her leg. Two red crescent-shaped imprints of teeth circled her calf, more scars to add to her collection, but at least she could move the leg and ankle without pain. Tracing the bright red scar, she noticed that the stubborn rash above her knee that she’d been fighting for months was finally gone. Despite what had happened to her, she felt physically better than she had in months. Madame Pomfrey had done an amazing job healing her, which begged the question—how long had she been unconscious?

As if summoned by the thought, the school’s mediwitch peeked around the wooden screen and smiled at seeing Hermione sitting up. Madam Pomfrey stepped inside and suddenly Hermione could smell herbal potions and cucumber mint lemonade, could hear the rustle of her robes and hear her heartbeat and breathing. “Oh good, you’re up. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Wait, she could hear Pomfrey’s heartbeat? That wasn’t normal. “Except...” Hermione’s chest went tight and her breathing sped up, “I hear your heartbeat. How is that possible?”

Madam Pomfrey tilted her head and blinked. “You’re a Sentinel now, dear, don’t you remember? You came Online and restored The Lady’s Gift, the fountain just inside where the forest meets the lake.”

“I am not a Sentinel. I am just observant,” Hermoine said evenly before pausing at a strange swooshing feeling in her belly. “Aren’t I?” she asked tentatively, pressing hands to her head as vertigo surged through her. “I feel dizzy.”

“First things first, your arm dear?” Madam Pomfrey took Hermione’s wrist and swirled her wand over Hermione’s forearm, casting a diagnostic spell Hermione hadn’t seen before. Colorful smoke rose from Hermione’s skin and braided together in the air. “Wonderful.” Cutting her wand through the smoke in dismissal, Pomfrey performed the usual diagnostics Hermione was more used to before releasing Hermione’s wrist.

“Now,” Pomfrey said as Minerva silently appeared around the screen and stepped past, her heartbeat and breathing abruptly audible too, “it seems like you are as surprised by events as the rest of us, but from all indications you did indeed come Online as a Sentinel during your little adventure two days ago.”

“Two days?” Hermione confirmed, uncomfortable at being unconscious for so long. She wasn’t ready to confront the second half of Pomfrey’s statement yet.

“Yes, your body needed the recovery so I let you wake naturally. You were struggling to stay down at first so I dug up this old wooden screen from a time when the school regularly saw Sentinel patients. It’s supposed to diminish outside physical stimuli so a Sentinel can relax their guard while healing.”

“Oh.”

Standing at the foot of the bed, Minerva looked her over. “I’m glad to see you looking so well, Hermione. When you collapsed in the forest you gave us all quite the fright. How are you feeling? Are your senses giving you any problems?”

Hermione licked her lips and looked down, rubbing a hand up and down her thigh, trying to ignore how she could feel the individual fibers of her nightgown if she concentrated. “I feel fine. I mean, I can hear and—and smell and feel things that normal people can’t, but I suppose I’ll get used to it. It’s just hard to believe.”

“I was there when you opened the fountain and even I still find it extraordinary.” Minerva sighed and straightened her back. “Unfortunately, the Ministry of Magic is also having a hard time understanding and believing all that happened. The return of Sentinels and Guides will bring many changes to Britain. I’ve been putting them off from questioning you, but things have become complicated by the parents of Adonis Lestrange.”

Shoulders tensing, Hermione looked at Madam Pomfrey. “Is he not alright? Weren’t you able to heal him?”

“The boy’s fine. He only stayed with me overnight to mend the bones in his leg and heal up his cuts and bruises.” Madam Pomfrey patted her shoulder. “He insisted on looking in on you before I released him to make sure you were also alright, though part of that might’ve also been an attempt to avoid Miss Richardson out in the hall. She also came Online as a Sentinel and has been hovering over Mr. Lestrange since he woke up, acting unusually solicitous and territorial and claiming he’s meant to be her Guide. It’s got the boy completely bewildered and his family and Slytherin housemates enraged. When I suggested to him and his parents that he should recover for at least another day before visiting the fountain to awaken his gifts or attempting to bond with the girl, his mother’s voice went so high-pitched it almost broke the windows and the boy turned Gryffindor red.” She chuckled. “The betting in the staff lounge last night was fierce.”

Lips twitching, Hermione shook her head. “Then what…?” 

Lips pursing, Minerva crossed her arms. “That horrid woman has decided to ignore her new reality and bring criminal charges against you. I’m sorry to say that Mrs. Lestrange is claiming you have a vendetta against the entire Lestrange family and were trying to break the boy’s neck instead of just his leg.”

“What!?” Hermione sputtered. “I saved him from the kappa! The broken leg was an accident!”

“Well of course it was, but someone with money and influence is backing their complaint,” Minerva said sourly. “They managed to set the trial for today. I’m sorry to ask this of you, but if you are feeling up to it we should go over and nip this in the bud while we can. If you don’t show up, the Lestranges and their allies will try to steamroll you. Even if you do go, the Ministry will probably use the trial to try and force the answers it wants about the return of the Gifted instead of politely asking in a civilized manner.”

Hands fisting, Hermione scowled down at her lap. “This is ridiculous.”

“Politics,” Pomfrey muttered before looking up and clearing her throat. “Please be careful with your new Sentinel senses. Don’t focus too hard on any one sense or you could get caught zoning out on it and have trouble returning to your normal levels. In extreme situations, zoning can lead to a comatose state,” she wagged her finger warningly, “so let someone know if you start having any trouble with your senses. I’ve got a bunch of books on order from the continent and I’m in talks with a specialist about receiving extra training for treating the Gifted. I may not be as prepared as I like right now, but I will be soon. I have a couple of potions I want you to drink before leaving. I’ll be right back” Turning with a rustle of robes, she swept away around the wooden screen, the sounds and scent of her passage disappearing like the snuffing of a candle flame between one step and the next. 

Hermione didn’t like it. 

And why was that wooden screen there again? 

Pushing stubbornly at the dizzy twisting of her thoughts, she grasped onto the memory of being called a Sentinel again.

But she couldn’t be a Sentinel. She was just observant. 

Yet how else did she explain the fact that when she concentrated, she could see the geometric shape of Minerva’s skin cells interspersed with towering hair follicles as clearly as the large red and gold lions decorating the flags over the Gryffindor tables during meals. Blinking, her vision popped back to normal and Minerva’s skin returned to looking like normal skin. As it should. 

The headache and sense of vertigo overwhelmed her and for a second she couldn’t think of anything else. She thought about mentioning it to Madam Pomfrey or Minerva but her tongue felt frozen in her mouth. 

Hermione was normal. Just observant. Not a… what wasn’t she again? 

And shouldn’t she be focusing instead on what to do for her criminal trial against Adonis Lestrange?

Putting both hands in her hair, she rubbed at her scalp, trying to wake her brain up. Her thoughts felt like they were trying to wade through chest-deep mud. “This case should be straightforward but I’m sure it won’t be, based on what I’ve seen Harry go through over the years. I’m having trouble thinking straight.” She looked up at McGonagall and bit her lip. “If you have the time, could you come with me?” 

“Of course! I did say  _ we _ , did I not?” Minerva’s back straightened. “I may not ever hold as many titles as Albus Dumbledore, but I still wield influence in the Ministry and have my allies. I’ve also taught Transfiguration to at least half of the people working in that building and can still make them shrink with a sharp look and arch of my brow. You are also more popular than you may realize, Hermione. Your work over the last few years plus your war record has gained you influence in your own right. This is not going to be like one of those farcical trials Harry had to endure as a child under Minister Fudge.”

Hermione nodded and released a slow breath. “You’re right. It’s stupid, but I’m sure we can clear things up quickly using the facts.”

“Good, keep that attitude. If for some reason they do try to drag the trial out, you’ll soon have Mr. Potter by your side as another powerful ally and with the 5th year celebrations last summer, his popularity is higher than ever. I’m sure he also still has that temper and would burn the place down before allowing them to keep you.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. 

Biting her lip, Hermione twisted her fingers in the sheets. “Do you think I should send him a letter? But I don’t want him to worry because of me. Maybe we can just wait and see what happens before getting Harry involved.” 

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” McGonagall lifted her wand. A newspaper soon zipped past the screen and slapped into her open hand. “This picture hit the international papers yesterday. Mr. Potter is most certainly already on his way.”

Unfolding it, Hermione sucked in her breath on seeing a picture of herself looking practically dead in Hagrid’s arms as he raced her to the castle, though why was he coming from the woods instead of the water where she’d fought the kappa? Her thoughts got muddy again. Hadn’t there been something with a fountain? And a bunch of people casting the patronus charm? She’d done something there… achieved her animagus form, an otter. And… broken a stone slab with runes? Is that where the fountain came in? Or had the fountain been where she fought the kappa?

She rubbed at the pain spiking in her temple and looked down to read the article. It was heavy on speculation and light on facts, not mentioning how she’d gotten hurt and making a point of wondering if she’d survive her wounds. “Poor Harry,” she murmured, folding the paper again to hide the disturbing picture of herself. “He must be so worried.” Unfortunately there was no way to get a message to him if he was travelling. In fact, the best way to let him know she was alive and unhurt was to show up at the Ministry and get her picture in the paper again.

After consuming the potions and food Pomfrey brought back with her, Hermione was allowed to return to her room to get ready for the trial. She took a quick bath. 

Opening her closet, she examined her options. She wanted to look good for the court and her former coworkers at the Ministry, who still thought her crazy for quitting her influential Ministry position to teach kids DADA. Her boss still sent her weekly owl posts begging her to come back. There were also going to be photos in the paper.

Pushing through her teaching robes, she reached into the very back for a fancy set of robes she’d bought just before quitting the ministry. Smoothing the robes down over her hips, she nodded approvingly at her reflection in the mirror. The wine red velvet robes had a wide, rectangular neckline with short puffed sleeves over a long-sleeved white blouse. The fitted bodice flared out at the waist, falling in heavy folds to mid-calf. A line of small white pearl buttons stretched from her navel to the bottom of her bust, where the red fabric split in a V between her breasts to reveal the white blouse. 

Although she’d prefer to wear her knee-high boots and thick leggings in case the weather proved chilly, the court might want to see the bite mark on her leg as evidence. Frowning, she pulled on leather ankle-boots instead. She swept her curls up into a complicated twist on the back of her head and secured it with pearl-tipped pins. Pulling out the dusty bag of cosmetics she’d rarely used since she started teaching at the school, she pushed past the neutrals and dug out the potions and pastes she liked to use when attending high-profile Ministry events where she wanted to be both admired as a woman and taken seriously as an intellectual. After all, there was no harm in looking good, especially when Harry would be looking closely at any photos in the newspapers.

Hermione hated to think about how Harry must be worrying about her right now, though she couldn’t deny the giddy excitement at the thought of seeing him again. Would things be different now that he was a Guide and she a—blinking at her reflection in the mirror, thoughts slow, she reached for the word she’d been thinking of…  _ professor _ , that must’ve been it. Though it was a silly question. Of course Harry wouldn’t treat her differently just because she’d become a professor while he was gone. 

They were still best friends. Best everythings. And in just a few days she’d see him again and be able to breathe him in and hug him close for as long as she wanted, which was going to be for a really  _ really _ long time to make up for almost six months of absence. Harry was coming back! She twirled in front of the mirror and laughed, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.

She just had to get through this stupid trial first.

Since she still had a few minutes before meeting Minerva in her office, Hermione decided to spend the time clearing her mind and centering her body in meditation. That it helped reduce the strange sensations flitting about the corners of her mind was a bonus.

* * *

Hermione and McGonagall took the floo in the headmistress’s office to the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. The room was busier than usual for this time of day. Many in the crowd pointed at them and the volume of the crowd tripled. Hermione did her best to ignore it, but felt her cheeks turning red. 

As they pushed past a group of pointing and gossiping witches, McGonagall paused to talk to someone calling her name.

Still moving forward, Hermione unexpectedly found herself face-to-face with Gregory Goyle. She hadn’t seen him since his war trial five years ago. Goyle was still a hulking brute, but bitterness had carved lines around the thick features of his face, making him look closer to thirty than twenty-two. Dim-witted and sadistic, Goyle had always followed Malfoy’s lead in tormenting her during school along with his best friend Crabbe. She’d heard that Crabbe and Goyle had flourished when the school had been under Death Eater control and enjoyed casting the Cruciatus Curse on first years serving detention or found alone in the halls.

It was strange not seeing Crabbe lumbering by Goyle’s side, but Crabbe had died in the final battle, consumed by the fire of his own dark curse that he’d cast at Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the room of requirement. The out of control fiendfyre had almost killed both Malfoy and Goyle too, but her and her friends flew them out to safety, not that either of the Slytherins had ever thanked them for it.

Goyle had spent some time in prison for using unforgivable curses and was now serving the community service portion of his sentence. The court had been lenient since he was underage. He would’ve been done by now except he kept making new mistakes that added time to his sentence. She’d heard that he could often be seen skulking about on Knockturn Alley. 

Although Draco Malfoy seemed to genuinely regret some of his past actions and had worked hard to rebuild his family’s reputation and treat Hermione with neutrality or only mild disdain—a courtesy she politely echoed—she got the feeling that the only thing Goyle regretted was getting caught. 

“Granger.” Goyle looked her up and down. “I see you survived. Too bad.” His eyes caught on the new scar on her leg peeking out from beneath the hem of her robes. The look on his face made her skin prickle. “Big scar... looks like it hurt.” He stepped close enough to loom and smiled cruelly.

Grateful they weren’t alone, Hermione raised her chin and reminded herself that she’d just taken out a nest of kappa. “Goyle, still playing the schoolyard bully I see. You should know that I killed the thing that gave me this scar. I also stunned you the last time we pointed wands at each other. I could've left you for dead. I didn’t. Then. You should be wary of pushing me.” She stepped forward and, despite being a full head and shoulders taller than her, Goyle stumbled back. It made her smile coldly.

Expression going sullen, Goyle crossed his arms. “You talk big, but you only got me last time because Weasel helped you out. Next time you’ll be singing a different tune. If you have the breath for anything but screaming, that is.” He glared at her.

Hermione’s hand drifted to her wand holster just as she was rejoined by McGonagall. “Sorry about that,” McGonagall said before looking between Hermione and Goyle with narrowing eyes. “Mr. Goyle.”

“Professor.” Looking down, Goyle took a step back and turned, shooting Hermione a deadly look from the corner of his eye. “Granger, I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Before she could respond he walked away, joining a small group of unfamiliar wizards. A witch with bright green robes and wide, scarlet-painted lips put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to say something in his ear. Hermione wished she could throw a hex at his back, but a reporter with a camera had pushed his way through the throng and was snapping pictures. 

Pasting a confident and hopefully calm look on her face, she followed Minerva into the lift. Hermione pressed the button for the third sub-floor where small disputes were usually decided. When they stepped out of the lift doors, they found Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt pacing the hallway. Shacklebolt was a tall man with short-cropped hair and dark skin and eyes. He always looked worried. He’d been in the Order of the Phoenix and fought in the same battles as Hermione, but she still found him intimidating. 

“Thank Merlin you made it.” Striding over, he put hands on their shoulders and pushed them back into the lift, shoving them through just before the door had closed on them. Hermione stumbled, catching herself with a hand on the wall.

“Kingsley!” Minerva barked with a glare, shoving his hand off her shoulder. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Helping you,” he barked, turning and hitting the button for a different floor. “Someone leaked news of the trial to the press, so they moved Ms. Granger’s trial to the main room to accommodate all of the spectators. Someone who owes me a favor also told me that the message informing Hogwarts of that fact was waylaid in hopes that she’d show up late and embarrass or incriminate herself.” The lift slid sideways, flung them around a bit, and juddered to a stop, the doors sliding open with a pleasant  _ ding _ . 

Shacklebolt herded them out, talking and walking at a rapid pace. “They’re also bringing in a projection pensieve, knowing of Ms. Granger’s intelligence and talents.” He tipped his head in her direction. “You should decide ahead of time what memories you’re comfortable showing the public and what you aren’t, because I doubt they’re going to give you a chance to think over things once they have you sitting in that chair.”

Hermione blanched, horrified at the thought of everyone seeing her private Floo call with Harry—an exchange where he’d basically asked her to marry him and she’d blown him off. Why had she done that? Why did she always do that? One day he was going to give up on her and go ask those questions of some other lucky witch and she would die of bitterness and jealousy.

“Here we are,” he said, gesturing to the double doors leading into the Ministry’s largest trial room with stadium seating. 

Hermione had attended trials here before, but never when she’d been the one accused. More than two-thirds of the seats were filled, including the lower down private boxes belonging to titled families and seated members of the Wizengamot. She saw a few friendly and familiar faces, including a knot of redheaded Weasleys, but her pleasure in that was soured at seeing Malfoy lounging in his box with his mother Narcissa. 

After the war, Malfoy had traded in his old friends for a set of new ones with less tarnished reputations and bigger brains. At least she didn’t have to deal with Lucius Malfoy anymore. His funeral had been so well attended largely because the crowd wanted to make sure he was truly dead and gone. She wished the whole family would disappear or move to an estate in France like some of the other pureblood families damaged by the war, but instead Narcissa and Draco had chosen to stay and try to claw their way back to prominence. It had worked to a certain extent—money being a powerful tool—but after a flurry of effort Narcissa Malfoy had stepped back over the last year, supposedly in poor health after her husband’s death. With her ice blond hair and pale skin, she did look fragile in her fitted emerald green robes. She’d obviously lost weight she couldn’t really afford to lose.

Portraits of former Chief Warlocks of Wizengamot lined the walls, gossiping with each other and the spectators. Directly across from the witness stand hung a large living portrait of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, who’d been Chief Warlock for a few years in addition to headmaster. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he spoke animatedly with Fleamont Potter in the portrait next to him, who listened with an expression of polite long-suffering she recognized from Harry’s face. It almost made her want to giggle.

Fleamont Potter had been Harry’s grandfather. When Harry discovered the portrait of his ancestor after the war, he’d made it a point to visit him regularly to learn all about his family history. With Harry gone to Japan for so long, Hermione had made sure to visit the portrait in Harry’s place so his grandfather would be caught up when Harry returned. It also helped her feel a little bit less lonely since he and Harry shared the same smile that crinkled the corners of their eyes. The portrait next to Fleamont had always been empty when she’d visited and she’d assumed that the headmaster had been off visiting his other portrait in Hogwarts. 

This room had been a lot more comfortable when it was just her and Fleamont Potter. The spectators closest to the doors started straining to get a look at her out in the hall. Hermione gulped and stepped back. She really didn’t want to walk in there.

Straightening robes twisted from Kingsley’s shoving, McGonagall sent Hermione a bracing nod. “You’ll be fine, Hermione. We both know you did nothing wrong and you’re good at public speaking. Just state the facts and keep your temper.” 

“Right,” Hermione said, not moving forward.

“Well go on, there’s no use dawdling,” McGonagall said sharply.

“Right.” Wiping her sweaty palms down the velvet nap of her robes, Hermione took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and strode into the room with as much confidence as she could muster. The sound in the room swelled. Based on the reactions in the atrium, there had been some doubt as to whether she was still alive.

The bailiff directed her and Minerva to sit at a table on the floor of the room. Across from them sat the Lestrange Family: Adora and Adric Lestrange and their son Adonis. Not a lot of creativity in that family when it came to names. The Lestrange parents had similar large noses, thin lips, and slightly protruding eyes, giving credence to the rumor that the family only married cousins. In comparison, Adonis was really quite attractive (except for the nose), though Hermione had previously considered his looks to be fairly average. 

On seeing her enter, Adonis turned bright red. Putting a hand over his eyes, he sank down in his chair as if trying to melt through the floor. It made her feel a bit better to see him acting so mortified by what his parents were doing to her. She just hoped that feeling carried through when it came time for his testimony.

The press was out in force for the trial as well, snapping pictures from every side. Hermione saw Chairwoman Brickbird and her “husband” sitting in the stands nearby and wondered if she was the one financially backing the Lestranges in this play. If so, Hermione would have to make her regret it.

The sound of a gavel banging echoed through the chamber, getting louder and louder until even the most distracted gossip had to quiet down or risk going deaf. “Order in the court.” The judge sitting in the center box had a big booming voice matched by his big bulbous nose. “I am Chief Judge Erklineas Hurst and will be presiding over today’s trial of Hogwarts Professor Hermione Granger, who has been accused of trying to murder one of her fifth-year students, Adonis Lestrange. As part of exploring the events of the day in question, the Ministry is also interested in Professor Granger’s testimony about the restoration of The Lady’s Gift, the fountain that was said to bestow Sentinel and Guide gifts and well as wisdom for ruling and increased magical ability.” 

The noise of the crowd surged at his words but Judge Hurst just raised his voice and consulted a scroll on his desk. “However, before we can get to that portion we must determine what happened with Professor Granger, Mr. Lestrange, and the nest of kappa. As the Lestranges are the plaintiffs, they may start.”

“Your honor, my name is Adora Lestrange, mother of Adonis.” Mrs. Lestrange stood up at the table across from Hermione. She wore a pink feathered headband, yellow cloak, and checkerboard pink and black robes. “As my poor son Adonis is only a minor and still recovering from the tragic events, I will read his statement.” She pressed a scroll to her chest and looked nobly at the sky. Stepping around the table, she paused and looked around at the crowd, making them lean forward in anticipation. Then, instead of going to the elevated witness stand, she began reading from right there on the floor of the chamber.

The account that followed was so far from what Hermione had personally experienced that she had to wonder if she’d accidentally walked into the wrong trial. 

“To sum up,” Adora Lestrange sniffled and wiped away a single crocodile tear, “Hermione Granger illegally bought kappa from Japan, spitefully released them into the Great Lake at Hogwarts, and lured my fifteen-year old son to their nesting place in revenge against the Lestrange family for the actions of our cousin-in-law Bellatrix Lestrange. When it looked like he was about to escape on his own, she jumped into the water to throw off suspicion. When Adonis tried to get away from her, she levitated him without permission and threw him through the air onto the beach, trying to break his neck and eliminate the only witness. However, despite her best efforts he only landed badly, breaking his leg severely as well as suffering a concussion. He’s been confused and disoriented ever since, even after treatment. For example, he suddenly professed to liking a girl he’s vocally hated every year he’s attended Hogwarts and tried to sneak out of his sickbed to see her. It’s as if his personality has suffered a drastic and damaging change.” She reached up and wiped both her eyes, though they looked dry to Hermione. By this time Adonis was so low in his chair he was practically under the table.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lestrange,” Judge Hurst said, dismissing her before turning to Hermione’s table.

McGonagall stood up. “As Headmistress of Hogwarts, I can tell you that this is the worst sort of fabrication and slander. Hermione Granger saved that boy from those kappa. She is a hero deserving of thanks. Mr. Hurst, it is shameful that instead she is being forced to attend a criminal trial only a few hours after waking up from her grueling recovery!”

The judge squirmed in his chair and looked down, clearing his throat. “We’re all just doing our jobs, Professor. If she is innocent as you say then this trial will help to clear up any rumors and allow everyone to move on to exploring and celebrating the return of The Lady’s Gift.” The crowd broke into a renewed flurry at his words.

Tugging on his robes, Judge Hurst banged his gavel to quiet the crowd and looked over at Hermione. “Professor Granger, would you please come to the stand and tell us your version of events from that day? Start with your supposed rescue of Adonis Lestrange and continue through awakening the Lady’s Gift and returning Sentinel/Guide gifts to Britain. Both events are of interest to this court.” 

“Of course.” Standing up, Hermione moved to the spindly platform in the middle of the room, carefully climbed the six thin steps leading up to the chair, lifting her robes to minimize her chances of tripping, and sat down. With each moment she could feel the honesty hexes carved into the wood waking up and wrapping her in tiny threads of magic that would nudge her towards speaking truth and make her uneasy telling lies. It was rather unfair that Mrs. Lestrange hadn’t sat in the chair and had to deal with the honesty hexes while reading that elaborate piece of fiction.

“How long have you been Online as a Sentinel, Professor Granger?” the judge asked as she settled.

Hermione crossed her legs and smoothed her red velvet robes over her knees as she absently answered, “I’m not a Sentinel. I’m just observant.” She frowned as the honesty hexes on the chair warmed uncomfortably. What had she lied about? McGonagall was looking at her like she was touched in the head.

“Nevermind, we’ll get to that later, but please remember to use honesty in this courtroom or else be punished for it. Now, why don’t you just start with how you knew Adonis Lestrange was in trouble,” Judge Hurst said.

“Of course.” Giving him a professional smile, Hermione began her story, merely mentioning that she’d been on a floo call when she’d looked out the window, seen Adonis Lestrange walking near what looked like a kappa nest, and gone running out of the castle. “Once I found him, I cast a firework spell to light up the area and pulled Mr. Lestrange to the surface, using a blasting curse to remove the kappa attacking him, followed by a cutting curse. The kappa had dragged him into deeper water, so wading back to the shore took time, especially as I was supporting Mr. Lestrange, who’d hit his head and was having trouble. More kappa surrounded us and attacked from all sides. I didn’t think I could protect both of us, so I levitated Mr. Lestrange using his clothing and flew him towards dry land where he’d hopefully be safe from the kappa long enough for help to reach him. Before I could set him down safely, I was pulled underwater by a kappa who’d grabbed my ankle, breaking my control of the spell. Another kappa latched onto my throat and started to strangle me. As we fought they pulled me out into deeper water. The one on my leg bit me.” 

Looking down, Hermione tried to slow her breathing. She’d been trying to keep her account clinical, but the memory of her terror and how close she’d come to death was proving to be too much. She hadn’t had time to really think about it before rushing over here for the trial. Her nose stung and she blinked rapidly.

“And how did you escape?” The judge prompted.

Briskly wiping her eyes, she looked up to answer. “I…” her thoughts slowed and turned to mud. “I walked up onto the shore.”

Brow wrinkling, the judge leaned forward. “But before that, how did you escape from the two kappa dragging you into deeper water?”

“Well I…” Hermione blinked slowly at the judge. What had he asked? Something about getting away. “I walked up onto the shore.”

The judge’s lips pursed. “Professor Granger, please answer the question. How did you get away from the kappa in the water before you walked up onto the shore?”

“They were dragging me deeper and then—and then….”

“And then?”

Confused, Hermione looked up from her hands and then around the room before returning to the judge. “I’m sorry, did you ask me a question?” 

The crowd began murmuring, a rising swell of noise she didn’t understand and found annoyingly distracting. It was very rude. 

After banging his gavel and reminding the crowd to be silent, the judge sat back and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Professor Granger, do you remember what happened after getting bitten by the kappa but before wading out onto shore?”

“Well of course I re….” Hermione blinked, her thoughts spinning and becoming unusually slow. 

The judge was staring at her unhappily. 

It was so embarrassing, but she had to just say it. “I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?”

For some reason that made the crowd go wild again. Mrs. Lestrange jumped to her feet and pointed at Hermione accusingly, shrieking over the noise, “She did it on purpose! She altered her memory to avoid incriminating herself!”

“I did no such thing!” Hermione answered hotly. “That’s ridiculous! I just asked for a repeat of the question.” She looked at a pale-faced McGonagall and then the judge. “I’m willing to answer now if you’d just ask it again, Sir.”

Banging his gavel, the judge sent out a surge of magic that silenced the room. “Before going further, I am going to require Professor Hermione Granger to be examined by the officially appointed court healer for mental tampering. The court will go to recess during that time and officially reconvene in one hour.”

“What?” As an auror stepped up to the chair and held out his hand to escort Hermione down, she looked at him in shock. “But I’m innocent. My memories are fine.”

“Please come with me, Professor.” She had no choice but to accept the auror’s help down the six narrow steps from the witness chair platform. He escorted her out a side door. McGonagall joined them in the hall, but was forced to wait outside the small room where the healer waited to examine Hermione. Swallowing, Hermione went inside and closed the door.


	8. Chapter 8

An hour later the trial reconvened. Hermione sat at the table next to Minerva, her fingers trembling and her stomach twisted in knots. She wished Harry was here, wished that there had been some sort of mistake. None of this made any sense, even Minerva thought so.

Court Healer Abebe Gbeho—a plump, middle-aged woman with dark skin and tight black braids held back in a white, gold, and black patterned head scarf—climbed the steps and sat down in the witness chair, fluffing her teal and gold robes around her legs.

“Would you please tell the court the results of your mental examination of Hermione Granger?” The judge had unrolled a scroll and was preparing to take notes. The lights overhead gleamed off his creased forehead.

Frowning softly, Healer Gbeho nodded. “A deep probe of Hermione Granger’s mind shows evidence of powerful, long-term memory charms and compulsion spells. Alchemy has also been used to constrain her both magically and mentally. All my tests point to a single event during her teens when she was still maturing sometime between seven and ten years ago. There’s no evidence of any recent mental tampering, though she has proved unable to recall specifics of her time in the water two days ago or retain the idea that her senses are now enhanced because she came Online as a Sentinel. However, something has recently started to corrode the magic she’s laboring under and I estimate that the mental coercion will fail on its own sometime in the next two months, barring sooner intervention by a healer.”

The judge rubbed his chin, lips thinning in thought. “If the mental tampering is old, why would she have trouble remembering current events?”

“Alchemy-rooted compulsion and memory charms are more insidious than the normal charms we’re used to dealing with in court,” Healer Gbeho explained. “They are more powerful but also messier, in that any new memory too similar to the initial charmed away event can get scooped up and obscured by the old spell.”

“And it is your professional opinion that this is why Professor Granger was unable to answer my questions?”

“It is.” The healer folded her hands in her lap and met the judge’s eyes evenly.

“Is it possible that those recent memories are missing because she did get memory charmed within the last two days and the old spells are obscuring that fact?”

“I saw no evidence of that but can’t entirely rule it out, though I can think of no one still living in Britain strong enough or skilled enough to perform such mental manipulation without me being able to detect it,” she said.

“Thank you, Healer Gbeho,” Judge Hurst said, dismissing her from the stand and turning to Hermione. “Professor Granger, because this is a criminal trial involving an adult teacher at Hogwarts attacking a minor student, I cannot be lenient even to one of our heroes from the last war.” For the first time, he looked sympathetic instead of just stern. “I was told that your options were explained to you during the break. What have you chosen?”

Clasping her hands to try and hide their trembling, Hermione stood up, ignoring the pounding headache making it difficult to think clearly. “I’ve agreed to have Healer Gbeho remove the spells in my mind and to submit the memories to a Pensieve to prove my innocence.”

Sliding his quill through his fingers, the judge inclined his head. “I am obligated to warn you that because the memories are being returned during a criminal trial, you will have to submit them publicly before evaluating them yourself.”

“What?!” But she didn’t even know what was in those memories!

McGonagall was practically vibrating in her chair as she glared at the judge. 

Glancing over at her, Judge Hurst shrank back in his seat and looked down. He cleared his throat and said, “This is our standard procedure in cases of memory suppression and Pensieve use.” Lifting his head, he turned to address Hermione and the watching spectators. “Experience has taught the court that guilty defendants who leave to restore their memories sometimes find ways to further corrupt or hide the memories until irretrievable. Other times defendants given too much time with restored memories find other thoughts and memories joining with the submitted memory unexpectedly, making the clean retrieval for a Pensieve memory almost impossible.” Pausing, he met her eyes and tilted his head to the side. “Will you still submit to the process, Professor Granger?”

“Yes,” Hermione said through numb lips. She wanted to go hide in her closet and indulge in a good cry followed by a screaming fit where she got to throw things at the wall, but there wasn’t time for that. Shacklebolt had pointed out that not agreeing with whatever the court asked after tampered memories were discovered would be seen as an admission of guilt. It wasn’t fair but it was what she had to work with.

“Then I’ll dismiss you to leave with the healer and we’ll wait here for your return with the memory,” the judge said.

Dazed, Hermione felt Minerva grab and squeeze her hand hard once before she was led away by the same auror as before. 

The room was small. Hermione sat down in the only chair, drank whatever potion was given to her, and focused on the pattern of woodgrain in the far wall. The room was emptied of aurors and assistants until only Healer Gbeho and Hermione remained. 

Behind her back, Healer Gbeho started shaking a snakeskin rattle that supposedly neutralized alchemy and earth-based dark spirits. From the corner of her eye, Hermione could see the healer weaving her wand in complex shapes as she cast a series of unfamiliar spells. Sweat popped out on Hermione’s forehead. Out of nowhere the sour taste of lemon puckered her mouth, followed by the almost overwhelming smell of musty feathers. That disappeared as she started panting for breath. Her heart pounded like she was running from a werewolf. Hermione barely kept from jumping to her feet and racing out of the room. No matter how uncomfortable it got, she had to stay. She had to get her memories back.

Bitter orange and blue clouds of foreign magic began boiling up from the depths of Hermione’s mind, smothering her thoughts, weighing down her lungs and the beat of her heart. Everything slowed. She forgot why she was here or what she was doing. She wanted to surrender to sleep, but she couldn’t because the irritating * _ rattle rattle*  _ just behind her ear kept jarring her awake.

Something popped in her head and oily blue-orange gas gushed out, solidifying into purple-red—a frozen, jagged purple-red like heart blood spilled on a frozen lake at midnight. The rattling sound stopped. 

In the silence Hermione fell forward and clutched at her head, swamped by a deluge of confusing images. She was stepping out onto dry land when the starlit sword melted out of her fingers, leaving only a tingle of ice. She was paralyzed underwater, tasting silt and fish, when the merpeople left and the glowing otter appeared with a playful twirl. She was drowning, mouth tasting both kappa and human blood in the water, when the Lady disappeared and took the light with her. She was shivering under the stands, mesmerized by Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes and feeling sick. She was clutching at a tree, able to sense everything around her intimately as a tall fountain rained down sparkling water. She was being asked by Harry—she was trying to tell Harry—she was—she was falling. 

Spinning out of control. 

Lost.

“Hermione, focus on me, not the memories. It’s normal for them to be jumbled at this point. They’ll settle down after a good night’s sleep and slot into place. Try to calm down.” Through watering eyes, Hermione saw Healer Gbeho kneeling down in front of her. Hyperventilating, Hermione didn’t know how to obey. Her thoughts felt like balloons that squished away when she tried to hold them in place or push them together.

Taking Hermione’s shaking fingers, the healer pressed them to the base of her throat. “Try to calm down and match my breathing. Feel my heartbeat and the texture of my skin.” 

Hermione tried to get her heaving lungs to obey, focusing on how each breath Healer Gbeho took pressed warm, slightly sweaty skin beneath her fingertips, contrasting with the rough coolness of the robes. The robes had a geometric border of white and gold that matched the healer’s headscarf. As a Sentinel, Hermione could hear in depth each breath the healer took and could sense valves flapping open and shut as her blood circulated with each pump of her heart. Feeling a smidgeon of crumb beneath her pinky finger, Hermione identified the food by smell and texture as Harry’s favorite biscuit from the Ministry snack trolley. 

Her new senses were rather fascinating. She began to think about all the new things she could discover as a Sentinel. Her breathing started to slow.

“There you go.” Healer Gbeho let Hermione’s hand go with a pat and sat back on her heels. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and smiled. “I think we did it.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, feeling both tired and very strange. The memories in her head felt like a mass of itchy, tangled wool. Since it was inside her head, she couldn’t scratch anything. When she tried to tug on a single thread of new memory, it pulled bits up from all of them and made her thoughts itch even worse.

Standing up, Healer Gbeho put her hands on her lower back and stretched, popping her back. She sighed and pulled out two Pepper-up potions, handing one to Hermione and downing the other. Steam shot out of their ears, banishing a lot of Hermione’s mental and physical fatigue. She rotated her jaw and scraped her tongue against her teeth, trying to get rid of the aftertaste. 

Healer Gbeho opened the door, allowing the auror guard outside to look in, and moved to a wheeled cart against the back wall that Hermione hadn’t paid any attention to. She pulled back the silvery cloth covering the top of the cart, revealing the projection Pensieve waiting to collect Hermione’s memories. The Pensieve was a large basin full of shining silver liquid. It was inlaid with precious stones and covered in saxon runes. Attached to its side was a bulbous, T-shaped piece of metal with intricate scrollwork etching. 

“I wish I could let you recover for longer, but it’s my job to follow the judge’s orders. Please retrieve the full memory of what happened with the kappa and Adonis Lestrange two days ago and place it in the Pensieve. The judge has asked you to also include your memory of waking the fountain of The Lady’s Gift.” Brow crinkling, the healer pushed the cart closer to where Hermione sat. “Now I want you to know that you don’t have to provide any old memories that may have been missing before and are now restored  _ unless _ they pertain to the trial. If you aren’t careful they may seep into the selected memory. Do you need an explanation or refresher on how to cast the memory retrieval spell?”

Hermione shook her head curtly, wiping her hands down her robes and standing up. She was proud to see that her legs were willing to support her. “I know how.” Though only theoretically. However, Hermione was confident that she’d remember just fine. She didn’t have the patience to sit through a refresher. She needed to get this stupid trial over with so she could examine her restored memories in privacy and peace.

Pulling out her wand, she walked over to the Pensieve and looked down into the shimmering silver surface. Still unwilling to show everyone her private conversation with Harry, she decided to start at the bookends as her verbal testimony, starting when she’d burst out of the castle doors on her way to the lake and ending with her passing out by the newly restored Lady’s fountain. She wished she had time to examine her new memories from under the water now, not that she had any doubt that they’d show her saving Adonis Lestrange as she fought to get free of the kappa, but she was curious and confused about what could’ve been worth memory charming her to hide. As she started tugging at the strands of strange images in her mind, Healer Gbeho cleared her throat warningly. 

Smiling guiltily, Hermione lifted her wand, placed the tip by her temple, and gently swirled, pulling out the desired block of time and depositing it into the Pensieve. “There.”

“Well done and good luck.” 

Hermione’s auror escort waved her out into the hall and escorted her back to the witness stand in the center of the courtroom floor. He waited until she’d climbed all six spindly steps and sat down before going back for the Pensieve, which he wheeled in and set up in the center of the room. Hermione found herself anxiously twisting the pearl buttons on her robes and made herself stop before they popped off and bounced down all six stairs.

“Is everything ready?” Judge Hurst asked, causing the noise of the waiting crowd to die down as anticipation filled the air. “Then let us review Professor Hermione Granger’s memory of the events two days ago outside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” He lifted his wand and activated the projection Pensieve. “If clarification is needed, I may pause the memory to ask questions. No one else is allowed to speak. Violators will be silenced and thrown out of the court.”

Hands clenching white in her lap, Hermione watched the memory start.

_ Past Hermione slammed her hands against the door at the base of the tower housing her office, pushing them open and almost bowling over a group of Ravenclaws about to come inside. “Get help, Great Lake!” she cried, shoving through and almost tripping on a dragging blue scarf. Regaining her footing, she broke into a sprint. You couldn’t see the lake in the memory, just her past self running down the hill. Her head abruptly jerked to the side and she staggered, turning white.  _

The memory paused with past Hermione’s face twisted into an unflattering expression.

“What happened there?” Judge Hurst’s disembodied voice felt out of place in the memory.

“I tried to apparate to where Adonis was fighting the kappa, but I was still too close to the castle’s anti-apparition wards and it failed.”

“I see.” The memory resumed. 

_ As past Hermione raced for the clump of sickly yellow water reeds and murky water now visible in the distance, she angled her steps to the left so she’d reach the shore on the far side of the vegetation and lifted her wand, casting the Weasley twins’ firework spell.  _

The memory paused again. 

“If you were in such a rush to save Adonis Lestrange, why did you move left instead of taking the shortest path straight ahead to the water?” the judge asked.

Hermione frowned. “It was instinct. My magic tingled, feeling sweeter and stronger in that direction as if my feet had found and were following an invisible line.”

“Like a ley line?” Judge Hurst sounded shocked.

Hermione was about to deny it but found herself pausing. “I’ve never been able to before, but… that is the most logical explanation.”

“I see. How about that firework spell? Is it normally so bright and large? Or so resistant to being extinguished in the water?”

“Not usually but... I needed it to be that way when I cast it and my magic cooperated.”

“Interesting,” said Judge Hurst neutrally. “We’ll revisit that later if necessary. Let’s resume.” 

_ Running forward, past Hermione splashed into the water and reached below the surface, dragging Adonis Lestrange into the air along with a kappa. She blasted the kappa off the boy, followed by a slashing curse that cut its body almost in half. Adonis clung to her side, coughing. _

_ “Professor Granger?” A cut above Adonis’s eye seeped blood. The water dripping from his hair down his face made him look like he was crying. Maybe he was crying. Hermione wouldn’t have blamed him. _

_ “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” She slung his arm over her shoulder. _

_ “What—what was that?” His teeth started to chatter. _

_ The water was up to Hermione’s chest and the taller Adonis’s waist as they started pushing their way through the plants and back to shore. “That was a kappa, Mr. Lestrange. You should’ve learned about them in third year.” _

_ “They didn’t look that big in the textbook. Or that scary.” Adonis tripped, almost sending both of them under. She jerked him upright. He started coughing violently.  _

_ Head going up sharply, Hermione looked around. She pulled Adonis forward, ignoring his coughing.  _

_ “Professor!” Adonis cried out as a scaly kappa surfaced in their path.  _

_ Hermione blasted it backwards. _

_ Another kappa surfaced at their backs and rushed at them with hands reaching for their throats. _

_ Shoving off Adonis’s arm, Hermione whipped her wand through the air and cast a levitation charm. Adonis shot up into the air, his shout turning into a strangled yelp as his robes strangled him. Water streamed from his body and over Hermione, who cut her wand through the air and flung him towards the shore with panicked eyes. Before Adonis landed, a kappa locked its hands around Hermione’s leg and pulled her under.  _

The memory paused.

“So far events have been consistent with Professor Granger’s verbal testimony of doing her best to save Mr. Lestrange’s life. The next sequence was where she had trouble answering questions. At this point I’m going to let the memory play through to the end without stopping,” Judge Hurst said. “I’ll address my remaining questions then.”

_ The memory became dimly lit and full of menacing shadows and whipping vegetation as Hermione was dragged through the water. She kicked at the kappa on her ankle, trying to get loose. She kicked again and one of the kappa’s arms tore free.  _

_ A second kappa darted forward and wrapped long fingers around her throat, squeezing so hard the flesh bulged between its fingers. Panicking, Hermione scrambled at the kappa’s hands. She stabbed her wand at the kappa pressed against her back. The kappa jerked hard, eyes rolling back in its head as its fingers tore away.  _

_ In response, the kappa on her leg bared its teeth and bit her calf. Hermione’s mouth opened, releasing a long torrent of bubbles, and beat at the kappa’s head. Her movements started to slow as her body began to shut down from lack of oxygen. The edges of the memory became patchy and dark. Drifting, glowing spots appeared. _

_ The glowing spots coalesced into a woman with an otter in her arms. The memory brightened. The woman had short, moss-green hair, grey river rock eyes, brown trout skin with faint black spots on her cheeks, and pink water lily lips. Sheets of ice formed her robes, which were belted with a sword.  _

_ “Free yourself and then free the others,” she said, her features shifting to something completely new. The otter swam up to hover at her shoulder. The lady grinned and drew a sword made of ice and starlight. Another sword still hung in the sheath at her waist. It looked like Excalibur. _

_ “Free yourself and then free the others,” the Lady of the Lake said  _ (for who else could it be) _. Holding the frozen starlight sword tip up, she let it go and disappeared, returning the memory to shadows. The otter grabbed the sword hilt and pressed it into Hermione’s hand. She killed the kappa on her leg and escaped to the surface with a gasping splash.  _

The rest of the memories sped past the watching Hermione in a blur as she struggled with a strong case of deja vu. She’d swear she’d seen the Lady of the Lake before and not just in a book. But where? Her head throbbed. It felt like trying to see through the surface of a frozen lake, just layer upon layer of dirty ice. Something was down there, but she couldn't quite make out the details.

In the Pensieve memory, Hermione watched her past self. 

_She_ _fought off the rest of the kappa, dragged herself back to shore and checked on Adonis Lestrange. Despite being injured, she detoured into the forest, trailing teachers and students, and followed a poisoned ley line, breaking the curse on the Lady’s fountain._

_ As the fountain splashed over those celebrating, the overflowing waters trickled down the hillside and rejoined the lake. For a brief moment, a radiant Lady of the Lake seemed reflected on the surface of the waters before her image melted away, revealing a glimpse of merpeople watching from below.  _

The memory rippled and blurred as if caught in a sudden whirlpool. Hermione didn’t know what was happening. Could the Lady of the Lake have been the one who spelled away the memory of their meeting? But why?

The scene from the Pensieve suddenly cleared, showing the Lady of the Lake under the water again. Frowning, Hermione leaned forward in the witness chair. The memory was frozen for a moment and then started playing.

_The Lady’s skin shifted shades between the colors of a clamshell, from pearlescent white to golden tan and pale brown. Unlike her shifting face, her hair stayed a short fuzz of moss green strands._ _In one hand she held a driftwood wand and at her waist hung Excalibur._

_ The Lady of the Lake nodded regally. She smiled and the scene suddenly illuminated, showing a brown-haired girl in Hogwarts school robes floating under the water. She looked dead. Several other bodies floated around the girl in similar states.  _

It was bizarre and creepy. Hermione didn’t recognize any of it. Except... the floating dead girl in the middle looked eerily like a teenaged version of herself. Which meant… could this be from the second task of the Triwizard Tournament? But she’d been spelled unconscious for the second task and had no memory of being under the water, much less seeing the Lady of the Lake. 

_ The Lady laughed and reached out to cup the unconscious Hermione’s cheek. Humor drained from her face, replaced by fierce purpose. “You need to wake up. Wake up all of the way. I need your help protecting our people. I need you to stand Sentinel. For too long my gifts from Lady Magic to her children have languished unopened. My wells are dry, my fountain blocked. Help me, Sentinel.” _

Watching the forgotten memory of herself at fifteen, Hermione felt astonished.

_ “Magic chose you as a protector. This land needs you. For too long it’s been without a champion. Wake up, Sentinel. Wake up.” The Lady of the Lake reached out and slid her fingers over Hermione’s mouth.  _

_ Then, cupping Hermione’s cheek, the Lady smiled, the edges of her eyes crinkling. “Welcome to the family, Sentinel. You are one of the few who has come deep enough into my domain so that I can awaken your potential. My sisters and I keep searching, but few magicals linger in our natural spaces and our sacred spaces have been hidden or destroyed. I need you to fix that.” _

_ Sliding back, the Lady looked up at the surface. “Time is short, but I can tell you a little.” Her face went sad. “The years blur, but two to three hundred years ago a magical offshoot of Puritan thought briefly gained power in magical Britain. In just a few short years they turned the people against Sentinels and Guides, jealous, resentful, and disapproving of the Gifted’s greater magical power, physical connection to nature, and intimate bond with each other and magic itself. They claimed getting rid of Sentinels and Guides was for the Greater Good. Anyone who disagreed was cursed or killed. They slaughtered my chosen ones, bound my fount of gifts, and burned every building and book supporting Guides and Sentinels.” Icy tears rolled down the Lady’s cheeks and dissolved in the water.  _

_ “By the time a new regime formed to depose them, too much damage had been done. No one even noticed a problem until too late. Now, every Dark Lord that rises in Britain makes it their first priority to destroy those rare few Sentinels and Guides we’ve managed to awaken. There are so few of you left. Until we restore the Gifted en mass to these shores, the problem of Dark Lords will keep growing worse, as they have in recent memory. I’ve waited so long for a Sentinel to help me restore magic’s gift to our people. Help me, Hermione. Find and unblock the Fountain of Gifts. Britain needs its guardians back.” _

_ The Lady of the Lake looked over and squeezed Hermione’s arm, reaching up to scratch the otter under the chin. “Ah my dear one, never fear. To be a Sentinel means you aren’t created to be alone. Not only do you have your spirit animal here to support you in magical and spiritual tasks, you also have a Guide to bond and share your life with. They will meet this duty with you. Sentinels protect with body and mind and Guides protect with heart and soul. Your Guide would no more wish to do this without you than you would wish to do this without them. You will know your fated match when you meet them. This knowing is a gift from magic.”  _

_ The otter slid off Hermione’s shoulder, bussed her on the nose, and swam away. _

_The Lady of the Lake gave a mysterious smile. “In fact, you already know your Guide, don’t you?” She paused for a moment as if listening to a silent reply from the unmoving young Hermione, then said,_ _“You’re only hurting the both of you by ignoring your instincts.”_

_ Her icy robes cracked and began to melt. Looking down, she grimaced. “I’m being forced away. It will take me time to return to this lake so I can meet and awaken your Guide. Bring him to the waters.” The ice of her robes dissolved completely into water and foam and she faded from view. “Until we meet again, Sentinel.”  _

_ Several merpeople swam into view, picking up spears and tridents from the lake floor. After a minute the merpeople turned as one to brandish their spears just as Harry came swimming into view. Harry tried to rescue all of them and was blocked by the merpeople, who only allowed him to reach Ron. Cedric Diggory came to rescue Cho Chang, followed by Viktor Krum, who grabbed Hermione and left Harry to wait with Ron and young Gabrielle Delacour. _

_ Hermione surfaced from the lake and magic lifted her up onto the dock. The crowd screamed. Water spouted out of her mouth and she rolled over, finally “waking up.” Viktor wrapped a towel around her shoulders and lifted her to her feet, posing them for the cameras. _

_ A giant timer hit zero and started clanging. Hermione covered her ears. People surrounded them with loud congratulations as Fleur Delacour surfaced from the water and started screaming in French for her sister. Flinching, Hermione made herself smaller. _

_ Harry finally surfaced with both Ron and Gabrielle. They were lifted onto the dock and swarmed by family and friends. Unlike the sobbing French girls, Ron seemed excited to be in the center of attention. The judges huddled together at the end of the dock, arguing. Dumbledore disappeared to speak to someone out of sight. A minute later, Harry went from being disqualified to being awarded points for moral fiber and in second place overall.  _

_ Viktor was pulled aside by friends and family. He let go of Hermione to express his outrage and stomped off. Hermione stumbled back until she stood at the edge of the crowd, pale and swaying, practically flinching at every loud noise. _

_ Ducking under the bleachers, Hermione pressed her hands against her eyes. _

_ Professor Dumbledore walked past and, on seeing her, moved to the edge of the bleachers. “Miss Granger, are you alright?” His face was in shadows, but the glittery embroidery on his hat and the back of his robes gleamed in the sun.  _

_ Hermione dropped her hands and laughed brokenly. “No, Professor, I’m not alright. I woke up.” She hiccuped and shivered. _

_ Dumbledore looked at her over his spectacles and moved under the bleachers to join her in the shadows. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand, Ms. Granger. You seem to have come through events as stalwart as ever, with wet robes and a new story but no more damage than that. Take heart. In fact, I’m sure your friends would love to have you join them in their celebrations. I hear there’s to be cake and pumpkin juice in the Great Hall to celebrate both top spots in the tournament being held by Hogwarts students.” Eyes twinkling, he gestured outside to the still celebrating crowd.  _

_ Wringing out her robes, she gulped. “Professor, I don’t have time for parties and pumpkin juice. Let me be clear. I woke up under the water as a Sentinel.”  _

_ Dumbledore’s mouth fell open and the colors on his embroidered sky blue and canary yellow robes flickered and dulled as a glamour charm failed.  _

_ Hermione dropped the drenched material she’d been wringing in her hands and straightened her back. “I have a task to perform to help restore my people to these shores. Magical Britain needs my help and I need my Guide. My senses are going crazy.” She rubbed at a raised rash on her wrists as her voice broke. “I need Harry.” _

_ Eyes losing their twinkle, Dumbledore’s lips went white. He looked down and breathed out hard through his nose, nostrils flaring. “Harry? I think you must be mistaken. Harry Potter can’t be a Guide. Perhaps young Ronald or your friend Ginevra could better help you out during this time? Or the champion who rescued you, Viktor Krum? You seemed quite taken with him during the Yule Ball.” _

_ Hermione shook her head curtly. “I know this is unexpected, but my Guide is Harry. He must be latent like I was. I need to talk to him. I need—” wrapping arms around her chest, she hunched over “—I need him. It hurts. I need Harry.” _

_ Stepping closer, Dumbledore looked down his nose and asked in a measured tone, “You speak of your needs, but have you asked yourself if you are being fair to Harry and his needs?” He ran his wand through his fingers and began subtly moving the tip. “Is it fair to force yourself and your needs on Harry when he is already heavily burdened with the current tournament and his role in Voldemort’s eventual defeat?” _

_ Face going white, Hermione jerked her head to the side. She opened and closed her mouth, “I—I….” _

_ Dumbledore cast a spell at her while she wasn’t looking. “We can’t forget that under the lake, Harry was trying to save Ronald Weasley, not you,” he said gently. “He did not break the rules to save you even when he obviously could have, as shown by his actions with the younger Miss Delacour.”  _

_ Hermione lifted a hand to rub at her sternum. _

_ Dumbledore’s voice continued inexorably. “Obviously you are friends and Harry cares, but Harry cares about many people. He didn’t choose you as his most important person, Miss Granger. He doesn’t see you that way.”  _

_ Hermione’s breath hitched and her eyes filled with tears. _

_ Dumbledore dipped his fingers into his robes and came out wearing a ring, the kind used in alchemy-based spells. He twisted the stone of the ring so it pressed against his wand and began weaving it in subtle motions. “Are you going to put your needs before his? Are you going to force Harry to do what you want instead of letting him do what he needs to do? Are you really that selfish?” _

_ Hermione hunched over and closed her eyes, missing the blue cloud that shot out of Dumbledore’s ring and into her ears. “No, of course not,” she whispered. “I’d never do that to Harry. Of course his needs come first. Harry comes first.”  _

_ A glowing otter appeared at her feet and bared its teeth at Dumbledore, swiping the air with its claws. _

_ Eyes hard, Dumbledore pointed his wand at the glowing otter and quietly cast something that looked like a bolt of lightning. The otter disappeared in the flash. Hermione’s eyes snapped open. The tip of Dumbledore’s wand lifted to point at her chest and he cast a spell that made her skin turn pale blue for several seconds.  _

_ Not even trying to defend herself, Hermione’s eyes clenched shut, squeezing out tears. Her breath came in sobs. “Please! It hurts. It hurts so much, Professor. Help me.”  _

_ “My dear girl, I will help you. I’m so sorry, but Harry has another cause more important than you. His fate is sealed. Harry must serve the greater good. Such gifts are a variable too dangerous to introduce at this late stage of the game. Your bonding with him would only lead to your death or to him wavering from his assigned destiny, leading to the death of us all. You must trust me in this. You cannot have more from him but friendship.”  _

_ Switching his wand to the other hand, Dumbledore put the hand with the ring on Hermione’s shoulder. The stone of the ring turned orange and dissolved into powder, drawing up into her lungs with each panting breath. “I trust that you will do your best to continue to protect and stand Sentinel over Harry no matter your relationship. You’ve shown that clearly every year you’ve attended Hogwarts. I think it is for the greater good that you go back to being latent and forget this ever happened.” _

_ “What? No!” Hermione cried, her face lurching up and her eyelashes fluttering but not managing to open all of the way.  _

_ Dumbledore pointed his wand at the spot between her eyes and cast another spell. Hermione moaned and stopped struggling. Deflating, she stood limp for the rest of Dumbledore’s spells. _

_ “Look at me, Hermione Jean Granger.” _

_ Hermione blinked up at him. Two tears trickled down her cheeks. They both ignored them. _

_ “You have no choice but to accept this,” Dumbledore said sternly. “Repeat after me, Harry is my good friend and only my friend.”  _

_ For a moment it looked like she was trying to resist, but then she laboriously repeated the words, “Harry is... my good... friend and only... my... friend.” _

_ “I am not a Sentinel. I am just observant.” _

_ “I am not a Sentinel. I am just observant.” _

_ Dumbledore pulled out a small bundle, untying the cloth and breaking off a chunk of something greenish-brown. “Chew and swallow this.” He pushed it past Hermione’s lips.  _

_ “You will not forget these words, though you will forget everything else. You will live by these words. Thank you for your sacrifice. Even though you will forget it, I will remember your contribution to the greater good. Now sleep, Hermione Jean Granger, and when you wake up life will once again be exactly as expected for a fourth-year student at Hogwarts.” _

The memory twisted into a whirlpool again and reformed to show the injured Hermione leaning against a tree next to the Lady’s fountain. 

Stunned and reeling, Hermione struggled to make sense of what she had just seen. She’d call it a lie except that the memory had been hidden in Hermione’s own head, not to mention those phrases… phrases she’d repeated over and over through the years without ever feeling the truth of them or knowing exactly why.

When the Hermione in the memory slid to the ground and passed out seconds later, the Pensieve memory finally ended, returning everyone to the courtroom.

The room was so quiet you could’ve heard the flutter of wings on the top balcony. Hermione was having trouble catching her breath. Something deep in her belly was quaking. Whispers of Dumbledore’s name started filling the room, reminding her of trying to help Harry protect the Philosopher’s Stone her first year and the raspy fluttering sound of the winged keys flying overhead. When the flock of keys had started zipping around, trying to confuse them and stay out of reach, they’d left careless welts and scratches on her cheeks and hands.

Hermione stood up, hands clenching and unclenching. “Professor Dumbledore,” her voice broke and she had to stop and swallow to wet her throat. “Dumbledore memory charmed me. I trusted him and he—he  _ hurt  _ me,” she said, as if putting it into words would make it any easier to understand. 

It didn’t. 

“I am a Sentinel.” Heat shot across her skin and pooled in her palms, making her fingers tingle. She pulled out her wand, clutching it so hard that the feel of the woodgrain bit into her skin. “I am more than just observant. And I love Harry. He is not just my friend.” Her voice got louder and louder. “He was my chosen Guide! You tried to make me forget, but I couldn’t. I am a Sentinel and I love him!” Her cry filled the chamber.

The echoes were shockingly broken by the all-too familiar voice of Albus Dumbledore himself, “It was for the greater good.” Unrepentant, he watched her from inside the frame of his living portrait. 

Flinching back, Hermione teetered and almost fell off the edge of the high witness stand. 

“I’m sorry you’re upset, so I’ll say it again,” Dumbledore inclined his head, “thank you for your sacrifice.” Straightening, he put his arms behind his back and looked around. “Harry Potter needed to meet his fate by killing Voldemort for the good of us all. Prophecy foretold that only Harry’s death at the Dark Lord’s hands could bring about Voldemort’s end. It was the best way. The only way.” He turned back to Hermione. “You would’ve been a distraction. I knew that if you protected Harry as rabidly as an Online Sentinel usually protects their Guide, he might never die according to plan. His suffering was necessary, as was yours.” He put a hand on the back of the armchair in the center of his portrait and looked off into the distance. “Perhaps when you’re older and wiser you’ll understand. In war, sacrifices must be made.” 

Stepping forward, Hermione’s temper twisted into a blizzard of howling wind and cutting ice. “Then you should’ve sacrificed yourself instead of the innocent children who trusted you, you maggoty old tosser!” 

Ripping free the bolted down witness chair with a savage twist of her wand, Hermione flung it directly at Dumbledore’s lying, manipulative, and condescending face. “Eat an honesty hex!” 

Eyes going wide, Dumbledore dived out of the portrait just before the ornately carved chair slammed into his painting and shattered.

The crowd screamed and everyone in the lower tiers scrambled away. 

Dumbledore’s portrait swung crookedly on the wall, but unfortunately the paint didn’t look very scratched. He peeked out from where he was hiding behind a chair in Fleamont Potter’s portrait next door. “Now I say, do control yourself, Miss Granger, and see reason!” 

Chief Warlock Fleamont Potter surged to his feet from behind his desk, black hair flying and eyes snapping with temper. Planting his boot on Dumbledore’s behind, he kicked, causing Dumbledore to land in an awkward sprawl back in his own painting. “You deserve everything she plans to do to you and more for using my grandson and his Sentinel like that. If you somehow survive this, I’m going to hunt you for sport.” Turning to Hermione, Fleamont Potter drew his wand, touched it to his forehead, and swished it to the side in a dueler’s salute.

Baring her teeth, Hermione recklessly sped down the witness platform’s six narrow steps, managing to reach the ground without falling, and shot a cutting curse at Dumbledore’s painting, followed by a volley of every curse, hex, and insidious charm she could think of, which, being a genius with a passion for reading and a good friend of the Weasley family, was quite a lot. When she wasn’t shrieking spells she found herself just shrieking. Everyone around her scattered and ducked for cover. 

The Auror on the floor tried to cast a stunner at her. Hermione caught the flash from the corner of her eye and barely ducked. Baring her teeth, she disarmed him. 

Yelping, the man dived behind the witness platform. “Professor Granger, stop! Please! I can see that you’re angry, but the portraits in this hall are protected by ancient spells! They're practically indestructible!”

“I don’t care!” Practically indestructible meant there was a way. She just had to find it by process of elimination. 

Casting out her senses until she felt a strange combination of salted caramel, tinnitus, and the air before a lightning strike that she was pretty sure signified a shifting ley line. Hermione ran to where it currently ran along the edge of the room and planted her feet. She sucked down the flood of raw magic, filling her core and channeling it into her next barrage of spells. 

More people screamed and fled out the doors as the entire room vibrated with percussive blasts. Hermione screamed too, unleashing her fury into her magic. The wall around Dumbledore’s portrait dented. Plaster cracked, sending clouds of white dust out in all directions and revealing bits of underlying lath. 

Hearing coughing in the nearby portraits, Hermione briefly paused in her assault, levitating the seat of the witness chair and attaching it to the wall using a sticky charm to shield Fleamont Potter’s portrait from damage.

That done, she shot a blasting curse at Dumbledore, who’d peeked out from behind his armchair during her pause, perhaps thinking to escape while she was distracted. He ducked down out of view. Three blasting curses powered by a ley line only made his portrait vibrate, but on the fourth, the top of the picture frame cracked. A piece sheared off and flew high into the air, embedding itself in the front of the judges box with a quiver. Emboldened by success, Hermione ignored the pain in her barely healed throat from all the screaming and increased her rate of spellcasting.

Inside Dumbledore’s portrait, bookshelves collapsed and knickknacks shattered. Lines formed from the corners of the portrait and spiderwebbed towards the middle. Paint began bubbling on one side and flaking away on the other. 

Panting, Hermione adjusted her position to stay centered on the shifting ley line and hoarsely pronounced another spell. She was tiring, but too close to give up now. Nevertheless, her rate of casting slowed.

When she fumbled a wand movement and had to start over, Dumbledore scrambled out from behind his badly chipped armchair and dove for the far edge of the painting, shooting a betrayed look at her over his shoulder. 

Betrayed! Him! 

Seeing those hateful eyes gave her a much-needed jolt of energy, but it might be too late. The painting on his other side was empty. If he made it out he’d escape her vengeance completely. 

Hermione desperately reached for help from her spirit otter as she’d done before at the Lady’s fountain. The page of a book she’d read ages ago popped to the front of her mind. Not letting herself doubt, she said the incantation as an invisible furry paw helped guide her wand movements. 

Dumbledore hit the edge of his painting and bounced back onto his bum with a shocked cry. Snow puffed up at his landing and stuck to his brows and beard. The ragged remnants of his picture frame had turned to clear glass. Snow fell from the portrait’s ceiling and spilled out of the cracks in the paint, falling to the floor of the courtroom and forming snowdrifts at the base of the wall. Hermione’s spell had transfigured Dumbledore’s portrait into a snow globe. 

And everyone knows that dropping a snow globe will make it shatter. 

Grinning savagely, Hermione shot a tether charm at the portrait. Winding the magical rope around her wrist, she set her feet, leaned back, and yanked. Unfortunately, the wall hook was attached to the back of the picture frame with very powerful magic. However, the wall where the hook was nailed was already damaged from her magical pummeling. As she pulled harder, the wall groaned loudly before the surrounding piece of plaster snapped loose. The portrait flew through the air and slammed face-first onto the floor, shattering with a horrendous crash louder than a dragon crashing into a lake. The broken pieces released curls of colored smoke as the portrait magic seeped away, melting the snow and creating a low fog.

Hermione walked over, debris crunching beneath her boots, and looked down. Flicking her wand, she canceled the transfiguration. The glass and snow returned to scraps of painted wood and mangled picture frame. As she watched, the vivid colors of the paint finished draining to washed-out pastels. One scrap showed three fingers, each adorned with a ring used in alchemy-based magic. Even with the colors faded, she recognized the stone ring from her restored memory, the ring Dumbledore had used to control her. His magic never would’ve worked so well or lasted so long if she hadn’t trusted him so much to begin with.

Eyes stinging and breath hitching, Hermione kicked at the scrap, sending it skittering across the floor. It didn’t help. She pressed her lips tight, fighting the feeling. Two fat tears escaped anyway, burning down her cheeks. 

Hermione wiped her cheeks dry and lifted her wand again, using her magic to sweep all the pieces into a pile. “Incendio!” The flames hungrily devouring the wood. When there was nothing recognizable left, she felt a little bit better. She mounded the ashes at the base of the wall for the janitors to dispose of later, as was only polite, and unstuck the piece of chair protecting Fleamont’s portrait, placing it next to the ashes on the floor.

Tucking away her wand, she smoothed back the curls that had fallen in her face, took a deep, quivery breath, and blew it out. Her next breath came smoother. Returning to her table, she sat down and primly crossed her legs, trying to pretend that everything was normal. 

Most of the bottom rows of bleachers were deserted, the remaining spectators staring from the upper levels and doorways except for a few brave photographers excitedly taking pictures. The buzzing sound of the crowd grew to a roar when she didn’t do anything but sit in her chair and work on slowing her breathing. 

McGonagall pushed her way out of the crowd, snatched her elbow and her hat away from a shaken-looking Shacklebolt, and plopped her hat back on her head before marching back to her seat next to Hermione. Shacklebolt looked around, a little lost, and then followed her to sit at Hermione’s defendant table instead of staying in the stands. McGonagall sent him a small frown, sent Hermione a bigger one—which Hermione pretended not to see—and cast a burning glare at the damaged area of plaster where Dumbledore’s portrait used to hang, almost causing the ashes to reignite.

“Well done, Miss Granger!” Fleamont Potter called from his portrait as he moved back into view, brushing wild strands of black hair away from his face and making Hermione’s chest hurt from how fiercely she suddenly missed Harry. “I knew I liked you—justice and vengeance done in style!” 

A portrait dressed in robes from the seventeenth century grumbled quietly one row up. 

Fleamont sent the man a dark look and pulled his wand. “Either say that again to my face or shut up, Grenbonnet.” 

Gulping, Grenbonnet shrank back. 

Fleamont righted his overturned chair, sat down, and put his feet up on his desk, looking around at the other portraits and running his wand through his fingers meaningfully. The rest of them stayed silent.

“Perhaps we should resume, Mister Hurst,” McGonagall rapped her knuckles on the table and looked at the Judge’s box. 

Judge Hurst slowly stood up, clutching his magical gavel to his chest. Seeing McGonagall’s impatiently arched brow, he plopped down into his seat like a student standing out of turn, then flushed. “Right.” He looked around, first at the dented wall before getting caught on the piece of picture frame embedded in his box like a thrown dart. “Perhaps we should discuss…” frowning, his voice trailed off as his eyes dropped to the pile of ashes and pieces of broken chair. “Where to even start?” 

McGonagall frowned repressively. “That matter isn’t really relevant to the criminal case brought against Professor Granger by the Lestrange family. That is why we’re all here today, is it not, Mister Hurst?” 

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he said faintly, staring again at where Dumbledore’s portrait used to be.

“Right, then where were we?” McGonagall demanded curtly, leaning back in her chair.

Hermione really did love her former head of house. “I think Judge Hurst was about to pronounce me innocent and dismiss the trial.” She looked at him expectantly, flicking away a bead of sweat from her brow. 

Blinking, he straightened, blew out a slow breath, and nodded. He banged his gavel. “Returning to the case at hand, while the Ministry will need to explore both Dumbledore’s actions and this Sentinel business more...” he trailed off as Hermione’s eyes narrowed and flicked between him and the crater on the wall meaningfully. Clearing his throat, he inclined his head. “That can be done at a later time. As Britain’s first Alpha Sentinel in centuries, woken by the Lady of the Lake herself for the great purpose of returning Sentinels and Guides to our shores, Hermione Granger has in the past and will surely continue in the future to do great things for magical Britain. In both her testimony and her Pensieve memories, I saw a woman doing her best under terrible constraints. Nothing I saw made me suspect her of foul play against her student.” 

“Unless the prosecution has more concrete evidence to submit,” he looked at the still cowering Lestranges, who shook their heads. Adora Lestrange waved a hand above the edge of the table in bitter defeat. “Then I pronounce Professor Hermione Granger innocent of the charge of trying to murder her student, Adonis Lestrange.” Judge Hurst banged his gavel again. “The case is now closed. You are all dismissed.” 

The noise of the crowd was almost enough to overwhelm Hermione’s newly sensitive sense of hearing, not that she’d let anyone else know that. She was done with spilling her personal secrets to everyone. Right now the only person she wanted to see or talk to was Harry. Standing up, keeping her head held high, she marched from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, so how did that make you feel? Was it anything like what you expected? I’d love to know! As an aside, I discovered the Icelandic band Árstíðir on Amazon Prime Music as I wrote this and they are quite lovely. I particularly like their song “Passion,” which sounds like it should be a dance duet choreographed by Travis Wall or a fandom shipper music video. I can certainly picture my Harry looking soulfully into the distance with this song. Thanks for reading and commenting! 


	9. Chapter 9

Releasing the International Portkey, Harry staggered three steps, put a hand on the wall, and leaned over, throwing up so hard he half expected to see toenails. Considering how many times he’d vomited on this trip, you’d think his stomach would be empty by now. Someone vanished his mess, which he appreciated. Eyes closing, he shakily leaned against the wall and tried to wrestle his rebellious body—which had developed a severe aversion to international portkey travel—into calming down. 

Was this Romania? Or Italy? Harry had lost track. He opened his eyes and saw a poster across the way advertising ancient colonnaded temples and white buildings with bright blue roofs. The words jumped from language to language, finally hitting English with, “Welcome to Athens, Greece!” 

Well, at least it was finally Europe.

On his way to Japan, his group had taken four international portkeys with approximately a six-hour rest at each stop that they’d used to recover and do a bit of local sightseeing. It had taken them nineteen hours to make the trip, upon which they’d collapsed in their hotel room for the next twelve hours before venturing out for breakfast.

In contrast, Harry had been forced to take a much more circuitous route back to London because he was trying to rush and didn’t want to take the mandatory breaks required by the main portkey authorities. This had been his fifth? Or was it sixth? portkey and he’d just barely reached Europe. 

Bribing people and scamming the portkey system was a lot more difficult than he’d expected. People would take his money, but that was no guarantee he’d end up where they promised. He should’ve gotten to Europe after his fourth portkey, but he’d been tricked by a witch who’d taken his money and then transported him north into Russia instead of west into Bulgaria. In Russia, the wizard had taken his bribe money and disappeared, forcing Harry to buy a different, short-hop ticket to avoid suspicion or arrest by local authorities. Frustrated, Harry had decided to turn to subterfuge and disguise instead, since his cash was getting low and he still wasn’t there yet.

On seeing a mediwitch moving out from an inner office and heading in his direction, Harry forced himself to stand upright and stagger out into the hallway and into the restroom. Inside the largest stall, he resized his trunk. It took three tries because he was so exhausted that his words were slurring. He switched to a different colored robe and put on the hat he’d bought in Japan, then shrank his trunk again. 

A small voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Hermione scolded him for being so reckless and nagged him to take a small rest to nap, eat something, and recover. He stubbornly ignored it. Real Hermione needed him now, not tomorrow.

Going out to the ticket counter, Harry kept his head down so they wouldn’t recognize his face from when he’d arrived or notice how his eyes kept going out of focus. A group was cueing up to leave on the central platform. They weren’t speaking a language he recognized but he heard them say Paris several times. Paris was just one short hop to London. “I’m supposed to go with them. Here’s my money.” Harry pushed his coins at the teller, pretending to be running late to explain his frazzled state. 

Taking his ticket, he hurried over and grabbed the portkey. As Harry looked around he realized that everyone in the group he’d joined looked Asian with light brown skin and black hair. Many wore round, flat-topped hats decorated in complex and colorful patterns. Several of them also wore matching “Paris _= l'amour_ ” t-shirts under their open robes. Blinking heavy eyes, he felt confused. _Why are they wearing tourist shirts before even getting to Paris?_

The portkey activated and Harry landed hard on his knees, unable to keep his feet against the vertigo. He gagged but nothing came up but bile. A man was patting his back soothingly and speaking to him in a foreign language. Not French. He could feel his sympathy through his patchy mental shields. Other tourists pulled back in disgust and dismay.

Eyes watering, he looked up and caught the poster on the wall just as it shifted to English. “Welcome to Tashkent, Uzbekistan!” 

Harry stopped breathing. This wasn’t Paris, wasn’t even Europe anymore. He was back in freaking Asia! He was so mad at himself. Leaning over, Harry gagged again. It wasn’t fair. If he’d just waited in Japan and booked a normal trip he’d almost be in Britain by now. Harry wanted to hit something. He wanted to scream. He wanted to lay down on the ground, throw a tantrum, and never portkey again. 

Swallowing stubbornly, Harry stood up, wiped his mouth, and thanked the man helping him. He’d only taken two steps when his vision started tunneling. Harry swayed, trying to ignore it. Without knowing how it happened, he found himself down on his knees. Everything went black.

* * *

On leaving the courtroom, Hermione was intent on going home to recover and figure out what to say when she next saw Harry. However, just before she reached the lift she was waylaid by an aide for the Minister of Magic. Whisked up to the executive floor, she found herself seated on a couch drinking tea and slowly demolishing a biscuit while she waited to be seen. She would’ve resented being forced to wait except the quiet and calories gave her time to calm down and begin processing the revelations of the last hour. She had a feeling that it would take her a long time to make sense of it all and reach a place of peace. At least she was British enough that the ritual of drinking a hot cup of tea did help.

The door opened and the current Minister of Magic finally arrived. Minister Waysia Calle was a tall woman between seventy and ninety with golden brown skin, dark eyes, a large nose, and short, silvery-black hair held back from her face by a headband sporting a long magenta feather. Minister Calle always wore feathers. During her election she’d used the slogan, “Fly Away with Waysia Calle.” Supporters had worn “FLAWC” pins decorated with fancy hippogriffs. Hermione hadn’t voted for her, but the minister had done a decent job so far.

“Professor Granger, thank you for coming to talk to me.” Minister Calle inclined her head, making her magenta feather bob and curl through the air. “I understand it’s been a trying day for you.” She sat down across from Hermione.

“You could say that.” Rubbing her fingers along the soft nap of her velvet robes, Hermione squared her shoulders. “I’m still processing it all, to be honest. Much of it has come as quite a shock.”

“I hope you aren’t having any trouble with the flavor of the tea or biscuits being too strong for your newly sensitive Sentinel senses?” She gestured at the tray.

Hermione sent her a polite smile. “No, thankfully they’re fine. All of the mental and spiritual control I’ve been practicing in order to achieve my animagus form has proved helpful in keeping my senses from getting too overwhelmed.” As if taking umbrage at her arrogance, her eyes decided to focus out the window on a half-eaten leaf on a tree several blocks away and, when she turned to look back at the minister, wouldn’t zoom in again. 

“Splendid,” said the blurry blob that was hopefully Minister Calle’s face.

Blinking, Hermione struggled with her focus. She didn’t need to see the pores and hair follicles on the Minister’s skin either. She kept her expression even while internally recoiling at realizing she was seeing the inside of Calle’s nose. She had no interest in seeing this level of detail, thank you very much. Boogers were just as disgusting small as they were when they were the size of boulders. When her vision slid back to normal she quietly sighed in relief.

Thankfully the Minister had been busy pouring herself a cup of tea and didn’t seem to have noticed. Her feather almost snagged on Hermione’s curls as she leaned forward to grab a biscuit and put it on her saucer. Hermione barely kept herself from turning to watch the end of the whipping feather as it wildly gyrated through the air, a stark contrast to the Minister’s cool poise as she took a small sip of her tea. However, focusing too hard on anything felt dangerous right now.

“So you really had no idea you were a Sentinel?”

Swallowing a mirthless laugh, Hermione shook her head. “That was rather the point of Dumbledore’s spell. I wasn’t allowed to think about it. If it came up, I was forced to deny it and then discouraged from thinking too hard about why.” 

Unhappily chewing on the inside of her lip, Hermione had a horrible thought and bit down too hard, causing a zing of pain that flooded her mouth with copper. She carefully pressed the back of her hand against her mouth and probed the bite with her tongue as she marshaled her thoughts. “In my new memory, Dumbledore seemed very comfortable and practiced with the memory charms, compulsions, and magical core limiters he placed on me. Everything he needed, including rare alchemical components, were right there in his pockets.” She found herself anxiously twisting the pearl buttons on her robes again.

Minister Calle, about to take another sip of tea, paused and put the cup back down on her saucer. “You think that Dumbledore has done this before to other students.” Frowning, her eyes went unfocused. “Probably other Sentinels. We never had many gifted but there used to be almost a score in every generation. How long has it been since someone came Online at Hogwarts? Sometime in the early 1920s? I think he’d just started teaching then.” Her lips tightened. “What could have motivated him to do such a thing? How could he justify it in his mind? Was he truly so arrogant?”

“It certainly looks that way. His version of the greater good was the only thing that mattered.” Hermione’s hands clenched, accidentally crumbling the biscuit she’d been about to eat, scattering crumbs across her robes.

“Indeed,” the minister frowned and took a sip of tea. “I will definitely have both Dumbledore and the history of Sentinels and Guides in Britain thoroughly investigated.” 

The conversation then turned to Hermione’s career achievements at the Ministry. After an enjoyable trip down memory lane, Minister Calle asked about her future career plans now that she was a Sentinel, including a pitch to have her return to the Ministry. Although flattered to be recruited by the Minister of Magic herself, Hermione refused to commit to anything. “Headmistress McGonagall has been very good to me and at the very least I have to finish out my contract through the end of the semester, if not the end of the year.”

Minister Calle sighed and took a sip of tea. “Not what I wanted to hear, but it does showcase your admirable loyalty. We as a country owe you for your part in winning the last war and in restoring Sentinels and Guides to us through the Lady’s Gift.” Putting down her teacup, she sat forward, feather quivering overhead. “I’m going to give you some personal advice, Ms. Granger, not from the Ministry but from a witch who’s been around a lot longer than you have.” 

Hermione folded her hands in her lap and braced herself, not liking the undertone in Calle’s voice.

“Your political capital is even higher now that you add the title of Sentinel to war hero, rising star in the ministry, and brightest witch of her generation. You have a lot of talents and skills, but you don’t have the advantage of family or friends with high political or social connections in the magical world.” 

Hermione raised her chin. “I’ve been fine so far.” 

“But things are different now.” The feather flicked sharply overhead. “Your new senses make you vulnerable to becoming overwhelmed, zoning out, and even falling into a comatose state, especially while unbonded. As an untrained and newly Online Sentinel, people will try to take advantage of you. Some will purposefully wear things to irritate your senses. Others might even try to force you into zoning out.”

“Oh.” Hermione sat back, dismayed at the new world of bullying she’d be taking on. 

“You also probably have no idea how much prestige there is in being married to an Alpha Sentinel like yourself, especially one that can also see ley lines. Your magical potential is off the charts. On top of that, female Sentinels also don’t produce squibs. Not as children or grandchildren. Their children also turn out more magically powerful. You should expect to be inundated with marriage offers from heirs of the sacred twenty-eight and anyone invested in their magical legacy.”

“I need a Guide, not an arranged marriage!” Hermione curled her toes inside her boots to keep from jumping to her feet and storming out. “I’m going to marry my Guide.” Marry Harry, if he was still willing to take her. 

Please let him still be willing to take her.

Minister Calle seemed unfazed by her outburst. “In the past, marriage to a nobleman didn’t preclude a female Sentinel from taking a Guide, not as long as the Sentinel-Guide relationship remained platonic, of course, so as not to muddy the succession and bloodlines. Some noblemen have even settled for a less formal arrangement than marriage as long as there was a binding agreement for bearing the necessary heirs.”

“What?!” This time Hermione couldn’t keep herself from standing, fists clenched at her sides. “Just what do you take me for?”

Minister Calle rose to her feet as well, feather curling through the air. “I’m not telling you what to do or saying this to be cruel. Information is power. You’re going to need to be smart and informed to navigate the changes to come. You can’t make good choices unless you know your options and the expectations of others.” She patted Hermione’s arm. “You’re going to need powerful allies. I’d be honored to be one of them. After all, I do come with quite the flock.” She winked at her own pun, her magenta feather bouncing jauntily through the air. 

Left unsaid was what she’d expect in return, Hermione thought cynically.

Squeezing Hermione’s arm, she let go and moved to the door. “Good luck, Professor Granger. You’re going to need it. And do be careful with yourself until you learn to control your new senses, for both your own sake and that of others. I’d hate to be the one to break the news to Harry Potter that something had happened to you.”

Murmuring polite farewells, stewing over the implications of what she’d just heard, Hermione left the room and took the stairs, trying to stomp out her frustrations. Unfortunately, the echoes in the stairwell were so unpleasant to her newly sensitive hearing that she had to stumble out after only two floors, her ears ringing.

* * *

Harry woke up in a soft bed. Sunlight licked his cheeks and turned the inside of his eyelids a glowing red. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He was too comfortable. Drifting on the edge of sleep, he gradually remembered that he was supposed to be doing something. Lessons?

Eyes opening, he saw an elaborate ceiling of carved, interlocking triangles with walls decorated in geometric patterns of green and blue tile. Gold and white curtains swayed in the magnolia-scented breeze coming in through the open window. The pink blossoms of the magnolia tree shimmered with the magic that induced them to bloom out of season. It was beautiful and utterly foreign.

Releasing a deep sigh, Harry slowly sat up and ran fingers through his tangled hair, thoughts sluggish.

A beautiful, dark-haired witch with laughing eyes and generous lips walked into the room. She wore a flat-topped cap on her head and robes elaborately embroidered with metallic gold, scarlet, purple, and green. “Hello traveler,” she said with a smile, her words musically accented. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Better?” Brow wrinkling, Harry swung his bare feet over the side of the bed and abruptly remembered what had happened. Anxiety instantly dispelled his languor. “Merlin’s beard, I passed out, didn’t I?” He stood up and looked around in dismay. “Where is this again? Somewhere in Asia?” He threw his hands up into the air. “Where’s my stuff?”

The woman’s smile dimmed. “My name is Mediwitch Karimova. You’re at the international portkey travel clinic in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. I treated you after you collapsed and let you sleep off a case of severe exhaustion, dehydration, and squished organs which had become inflamed from what looked like too much portkey travel in too short a time. Please take it easy.”

“Why’d you let me sleep?” Harry turned in a circle, still searching for his things. “I need to get to London before it's too late!” Finding his belongings on a low table, he began stuffing his pockets. Shrinking his Japanese hat so it would fit, he looked around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. “What’s the quickest way back to the portkey office?”

Lips thinning, the mediwitch breathed out hard through her nose. “Please take better care of yourself in the future, Sir. You can pay at the front desk on your way out, that way.” She gestured to an archway on his right. “Also, you’re welcome.” Turning on her heel, she stalked off through a separate, curtained archway. “Englishmen!” The curtain swished closed behind her, followed by a muffled spate of what sounded like insults in the local language. 

“Thank you!” Harry called belatedly, hopping from foot to foot as he pulled on his boots. 

Out at the front desk, he found someone who spoke English and paid the bill for his unintended stay (along with a tip for the mediwitch who’d just been trying to be helpful and do her job). After a very helpful discussion with the ticketing agent, who Harry also made sure to tip generously despite his cash situation getting dangerously low, he bought a travel voucher to Constanta, Romania. Harry then paid to add on a ticket voucher to London, England with only a “minimal” three-hour layover as long as he signed four different legal waivers to absolve everyone from blame if he injured himself by not waiting. 

On arriving in Romania, Harry used the time to hunt down news from England. He finally found two English newspapers being sold at a cafe just down the street from the travel office. Not wanting to show up in London looking like he’d just come off a weekend bender, he forced himself to order breakfast—crusty bread, yogurt, cold cuts, and cucumber—along with a cup of strong black tea. 

The first paper had been published the night before and had a story mentioning Hermione on page two. Eating the bread and meat, Harry learned that all sorts of crazy rumors were flying and that Headmistress McGonagall had issued a formal statement that Professor Granger had been injured while saving a student from kappa in the Great Lake and was expected to recover fully. The rest of the article rehashed Hermione’s war record and the legal initiatives she’d help pass while working for the British Ministry.

Taking a sip of tea, Harry unfolded the second paper, which was hot off the presses. Seeing the headline, he choked, spattering tea across the paper and down his robes.

_Britain’s Hermione Granger Revealed as Sentinel and ¿Murderer?!_

Almost ripping the paper in his haste to wipe the tea off to keep from smudging the ink, Harry could only spare a second to drink in how lovely Hermione looked in her wine red robes as she walked confidently through the Ministry’s crowded lobby with Professor McGonagall at her side, pausing to talk to an unfriendly-looking Gregory Goyle before the picture reset. Speeding through the text, Harry learned that the Lestrange family had brought the legal suit on behalf of their son Adonis and were asking for a ridiculous sum of money in recompense. 

Obviously she was innocent. Harry would demand to testify on her behalf since he’d been there when she’d run out to save the kid from the kappa. Checking the clock, Harry saw that he still had a little over an hour to go before the portkey left.

Rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck impatiently, he returned to reading. Several Hogwarts students claimed that Hermione had then been instrumental in restoring The Lady’s Gift, a long-lost magical fountain that could wake Sentinel/Guide gifts and bestow other favors from magic herself. A professor from Hogwarts had confirmed this fact to the press. Which was interesting, sure, but not as important or exciting as the rumor that Hermione had come Online as a Sentinel in the process. 

Feeling shaky, Harry took a gulp of tea, sloshing some over the rim and onto his fingers in the process. It seemed too good to be true, especially in the face of all her denials. If Harry were to trust his feelings—which Hermione herself had told him to do—then her being Online could mean that she really was his perfect match and fated Sentinel and that whatever had been holding her back was now gone. After all that they’d been through together and all his patient waiting, was she finally ready to return his love? Share his passion? Bond with him soul to soul?

Exhaling shakily and rubbing a hand against his chest, Harry turned back to the picture on the front page. His spilled tea had smudged some of the details but thankfully spared her face. He traced his fingers down the curve of her cheek and across the stubborn line of her jaw, pausing beneath the enticing bow of her lips. She looked so beautiful, so strong. He couldn’t wait to touch her for real, to pull her into his arms and hug her hard enough and long enough to make up for how much he’d missed her over the last six months. Perhaps he’d never let her go. Sliding the tip of his pinky down her arm to rest over her hand, remembering the warmth of clasped palms, Harry smiled softly to himself at the thought that she might not want to let go of him either.

Going to the counter, he bought another copy of the paper to get a picture not stained with blotches of tea and tucked it into his robe for safekeeping. Then he returned to the portkey office to impatiently wait for departure. He had a woman to see.

* * *

Exiting the unpleasantly noisy stairwell, head throbbing, Hermione took three steps and almost turned back. The room was wide with a high ceiling and numerous benches and alcoves. Currently, it was full of people.

Goyle and his lady friend had cornered Draco Malfoy and his mother and looked like they were trying to sell something. Draco looked irritated. Mrs. Malfoy held his arm loosely and stared off into space with a faint, dreamy smile as if seeing something invisible to everyone else. When Goyle paused for breath Draco leaned forward and launched into all of the reasons Goyle was still an idiot. It made Hermione feel weirdly nostalgic.

In one of the alcoves huddled the Lestrange family and their allies. Adonis was faced away from the group and leaning against the wall, arms crossed and head down so his hair fell across his face and hid everything but his sulky frown. As the group shifted, Hermione caught sight of Adora talking to a witch on the edge of the group with glossy black curls and orange robes. The witch shook her head sharply and turned to walk away, revealing the face of former Committee Chairwoman Brickbird. Looking up, she saw Hermione and paled dramatically, spinning on her heel and rushing away in the opposite direction. 

Adora watched her bitterly and then glanced back to see what she was fleeing from. Seeing Hermione, Adora's face flushed and twisted with bitterness. She sent Hermione a poisonous glare. 

Hermione ignored her.

Had Brickbird decided to support the Lestranges to get revenge on Hermione for blackmailing her into leaving Harry alone? Hermione’s eyes narrowed and she fingered the pearl buttons on her robe in thought. If so, there would be consequences for the betrayal. Just ask Marietta Edgecombe.

Uninterested in conversation, Hermione tried to move swiftly through the space. She’d almost made it to the lift leading to the atrium when she found herself face to face with Cormac McLaggan and his mother. Mrs. McLaggan was tall like her son with cropped, dark gold curls threaded with an elaborately embroidered and bejeweled blue ribbon.

“Hermione, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Cormac moved into her personal space and looked down. “Are you alright?” He put a hand on her arm.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she answered automatically, shifting so his hand slid off.

“Hermione, dear, it’s been too long.” Mrs. McLaggan brushed her cheeks with Hermione’s and made a kissing sound, determinedly continental. “I hope to be seeing much more of you soon, but I’ll leave Cormac to talk to you about that.” Patting Hermione’s cheek, she stepped back with a knowing smile.

“Come on, we can talk in my friend’s office just around the corner.” Putting his hand on her back, Cormac pulled her away.

“Can’t this wait? I’ve had a very trying day and would prefer to just go home,” Hermione said, rubbing a hand down her face and allowing herself to be led.

“I know you have. Your life’s gone crazy. That’s why I need to talk to you.” Opening a door to reveal an empty office, Cormac ushered her inside.

Hermione thought about resisting, but the smell of old books and fresh ink in the room along with the lack of other people made the tension in her shoulders start to unwind. Sighing, she moved forward and turned, leaning against the desk at her back. “Alright, what’s all this about?”

Squaring his shoulders, Cormac sent her a confident smile. “I’ve missed you, Hermione.”

She stared at him and leaned more heavily against the desk. “What, really?” 

Cormac’s smile became slightly fixed. “Of course, really. I’m worried about you. You should come and stay at my place. With me. Breaking up with you was a mistake. I know I was jealous,” he looked down and to the side, “but I guess I hoped you’d fight my leaving more.” He shrugged, lips twisting. “You’ve always been stubborn. In fact, we’ve both been silly about this. I’ve missed you and I know you’ve missed me. We should get back together. Let me love and protect you.”

Releasing a deep sigh, Hermione tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “Cormac…” she didn’t have the energy to be diplomatic right now. Looking back at him, she shook her head. “Just… no. We don’t love each other and barely have anything in common. We just like going to the same kind of parties and restaurants. The kissing wasn’t even that good. When you dumped me I felt relieved. I don’t want to get back with you.”

Eyes narrowing, Cormac shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re lying to yourself. And I’m an amazing kisser.”

Hermione scoffed. “Your mouth tastes funny, you come in too hard and mash my lips against my teeth, and you still haven’t learned how to breathe through your nose.” She stood up straight and put a hand on her hip. “I haven’t missed you and I don’t need your protection. I can protect myself. The answer’s no.”

“You’ve always been too independent.” Face red, he clenched his jaw. “Look Hermione, you’re a Sentinel now. You aren’t made to be alone. You need somebody and that somebody is going to be me. Stop being stubborn and accept it.” 

“You stop.” She held a hand up between them. “This conversation is giving me a headache. I’m leaving.” Hermione moved towards the door. “Without you,” she said over her shoulder with firmness.

“Fine, you want me to prove it? Prove you need me? Then I will!” Pulling his hand out of his pocket, Cormac threw something wrapped in red and gold paper at her feet. It exploded with a bright flash, loud bang, and metallic stench that she felt down to her bones. 

Hermione fell.

And fell.

And fell.

Slowly the sensation of someone rubbing her arm broke through the paralyzing vertigo in her mind. She couldn’t see, hear, or even smell anything, but the touch was grounding. Pushing down her fear, she focused on it until her other senses slowly returned to normal. 

Eyes and mouth dry, she blinked rapidly and swallowed, looking up to find herself cradled in Cormac’s arms. “Wha—?” 

“There you are,” he sighed gustily, dropping his forehead to the crown of her head. “Thank Merlin. Okay, that was worse than I expected. You just dropped. I’m sorry, but this just proves it.” He looked up. “You’re lucky I’m a friend. Someone dark could’ve used that to really hurt you.” 

Hermione blinked at him, trying to think through the pain lancing through her head.

Cormac pulled her to her feet. “You need to come home with me to rest and recover. Once we’re married and bonded, my family will help protect you until we get the training we need as Sentinel and Guide.”

Pushing away from him, Hermione took a shaky step and shook her head sluggishly. “I don’t want to marry you. You just attacked me. You jerk.” Everything felt off, like the painful tingling when blood first rushed into a limb that had fallen asleep.

“Now calm down, Hermione. I only did that to prove that you need me. Look, the Lady of the Lake woke your gifts and everyone knows that my family descends directly from Arthur Pendragon—”

“Allegedly,” she interjected, sending her tingling fingertips into her robe for her wand.

“—which makes us a perfect match for bonding.”

“Not on your life!”

“You don’t have a choice! This is your life. You have to bond to someone if you don’t want your senses to go crazy and that someone is going to be me.” Chin setting stubbornly, Cormac reached for her.

Hermione shied away. “Don’t touch me!”

Huffing, Cormac shook his head condescendingly. “You’re overwrought and hysterical. I’m going to take you to my house to rest and then I’m going to the Lady’s fountain to make myself your Guide.” Crowding her against the wall so she couldn't escape, Cormac grabbed her upper arm in a tight grip and looked down his nose at her. “Let’s go, darling.”

Hermione turned into his body, looked up into his eyes, and kneed him hard in the balls. When Cormac curled over with a wet gasp, she slammed her elbow down on the back of his neck. The shock traveled up her arm painfully, but it was worth it for the way he sprawled onto the floor. 

Groaning painfully, Cormac slowly pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He shook his head gingerly. Pressing a hand to his crotch, he looked up and snarled at her, “You’re going to pay for that.”

Wary, Hermione darted back out of reach. Slicing her wand through the air, she cast a muscle relaxant spell used mostly in sports medicine, making him slither back down onto the floor with a shocked grunt. She rushed to the door and wrenched it open, pausing in the doorway for one more spell. “Rictusempra!” Silver light shot from her wand and hit Cormac, making him jerk and writhe on the ground, giggling uncontrollably from the tickle charm. It was a simple spell but, combined with the muscle relaxant, caused a satisfying reaction, one theorized by Harry and Ron late one night. The sharp stink of urine filled the room as Cormac lost control of his bladder. With the tickle spell still in effect, he splashed back and forth in his own pee, laughing hysterically even as rage and humiliation burned in his eyes. 

“Stay away from me,” Hermione said before slamming the door and walking away. She careened off the wall, having trouble walking a straight line, and caught her robes on a door frame, popping off a pearl button. Her senses wobbled up and down, not wanting to stay normal. It had been a hard day. She just wanted to go home, not to her rooms in Hogwarts but home to her little cottage where there were no scrolls to grade or reminders of Dumbledore. Home to her comfy couch and soft afghan.

Stumbling down the hall, following the smell of trees, she pushed her way out a side door and found herself at the top of a narrow, winding staircase attached to the side of the Ministry building. Hermione hit the railing with too much momentum and teetered, almost falling to her death. She wrenched herself back, losing another button as she dropped jarringly to her knees. The button went _ping plink pong,_ each sound a spike driving into her ear, before falling through the steps and rolling onto the ground. Gingerly regaining her feet, she cautiously descended.

Hermione recognized the small park next to the Ministry building. As far as she could tell, there was no one around but her. She rushed away down the path. 

Eyes refusing to stay focused, she tripped over a bench, hitting her stomach for the second time and definitely leaving a bruise. Rubbing her middle, she found several more pearl buttons dangling loose. Irritated, she ripped them off, flinging them away as she plopped down onto the bench. She wanted to apparate away but knew she wasn’t stable enough to do it without splinching herself. Hermione put her head in her hands and almost poked out an eye with her wand. 

What a truly rotten day.

Footsteps approached. Her hope that they’d pass her by was foiled when green robes paused next to her bench. “Today was certainly surprising,” a woman said. 

Hermione huffed in amusement at the understatement but didn’t lift her head to try and match a face to the familiar-sounding voice.

The woman put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “We’ll have to make the best of it.”

“I don’t think I have any other choice,” Hermione said wryly, rubbing her forehead to try and relieve her headache and fumbling her wand in the process. 

“No, you don’t.” 

With that, the wand was plucked from Hermione’s fingers. Before she could react, she felt the unnervingly stretched-out sensation of a side-along apparition. It proved to be too much for her overloaded senses and Hermione’s world went black.

* * *

Finally back on British soil, a queasy but thankfully not comatose Harry arrived in the International Portkey Office. He wondered if Hermione’s trial was already over. Since she was innocent it should go quickly. Should. He snorted at his own optimism, but it was hard to squash his good mood at finally being back and about to see Hermione in person where he could not only hold her close but also open his shields and melt into her with his empathy. Just thinking about it made him shiver.

For some reason, his return was met with barely hidden looks of sympathy in addition to the usual is-he-secretly-a-nutter? and starstruck staring. Harry was too eager to stop and figure out why. Probably because he looked so bad. 

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, trying to neaten it. Hopefully Hermione wouldn’t care. She’d looked beautiful in those wine red dress robes with the little pearl buttons and notched bodice. Smiling dopily, Harry patted the newspaper picture in his pocket. 

Distracted by his thoughts, he only dimly heard the radio “—presumed missing. The public is asked to keep an eye out and report if they see her in case she’s zon—.” The sound cut off as the door swung shut behind him. 

In the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, Harry saw Auror Shacklebolt talking to Headmistress McGonagall. Despite his hopes there weren’t any familiar chestnut curls with them. He beelined in their direction, hoping they’d know where he could find Hermione so he didn’t have to waste his time searching. By long practice, he ignored the looks, pointed fingers, and whispers trailing in his wake. 

As Harry neared, he heard McGonagall’s strident voice. “Someone must’ve found something!”

Brow creasing, Shacklebolt extended an open hand. “Just these leading to a park bench outside.” On his dark palm rested several gleaming pearl buttons. 

“What’s going on?” Harry asked.

“Potter! You’re back.” McGonagall exchanged a speaking glance with Shacklebolt.

“What?” He felt dread pooling in his belly at the feelings he sensed from the two of them even through his mental shields.

“Perhaps we should speak in my office,” Shacklebolt gestured.

Harry’s feet felt rooted to the floor. His vision narrowed to the people in front of him. His wand was in his hand, though he didn’t remember drawing it. “Where. Is. Hermione?” Nothing else mattered.

“About that…” Shacklebolt trailed off and grimaced. Removing his hat, he rubbed a hand over his shaved head. “She’s gone.”

“What?” Harry didn’t recognize his own voice, a low and threatening growl throbbing with rage and a hint of anguish.

Shacklebolt took a small step back.

McGonagall glared at Harry. “Hermione disappeared after her trial. It’s possible she left on her own, but she’s nowhere to be found. We think someone took her.”

“Who?” At that moment, Harry would have quite happily committed murder.

“We don’t know,” McGonagall bit out. “If we did, do you think we’d be standing here arguing?”

Returning his hat to his head, Shacklebolt jerked his head to the side. “Come. We’ll talk while my people gather more information.”

Harry fell into step with them, fingers clenching and unclenching as he wrestled with his temper. “Whoever took her, I’m going to make them regret it,” he vowed fiercely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we get to the final twist in the plot! There are just two more chapters to the end (I think). I really love reading the kind things you write in your reviews. Who do you think has Hermione? I’m curious to see who guesses right!
> 
> I almost got distracted after seeing the new Mulan movie because the witch is such an complex, interesting, and sympathetic character and I had a fun idea about writing a story with her haunting Mulan as Mulan takes on her new job on working in the capital and fumbles through a courtship, but I realized that no story ever stays small despite my initial efforts and that I really do need to finish this one first! So I restrained myself.
> 
> In checking my outline, I had several ideas and false starts that I ended up scrapping. So I decided to do something no one asked for (referencing the meme), lol! For those interested, I posted (only on AO3 since it’s not allowed on ff dot net) a ‘Plotting Toast part 2’ meta that is really just my notes, outlines, and those incomplete early scenes from my planning phase so you can see how my writing process works. I have three slightly different outlines that will go up as chapters 3-5 in it after this story finishes because I don't want to spoil the surprise of the final story chapters. I always find the writing process interesting to see in other authors, so here’s hoping other writers might occasionally do this too. Cheers!


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione woke up on what felt like a cloud. A wet cloud. Rolling over, she wiped the drool from her face with the back of her hand and opened her eyes. This was not her bedroom or anywhere familiar. She stiffened and looked around, remembering that she’d been kidnapped. At least she’d woken up somewhere nice. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. 

Luxurious black sheets pooled about her waist as she sat up in the huge four-poster bed. The cream duvet, embroidered in pearl-embellished fleur-de-lis, was thick enough to hide an entire shelf of books without a lump. Despite that, it only felt comfortably warm instead of swelteringly hot. There were no windows, but silver sconces glowed softly on the walls, brightening in response to her waking. Dark wainscoting and ceiling panels had been paired with emerald green wallpaper striped in silver. A closer look showed the stripes to be tiny silver serpents. Hermione swallowed hard. She didn’t have a good history with people who decorated with serpents.

As if in response to her thoughts, the door opened and Narcissa Malfoy came swanning into the room trailed by a wrinkled female house-elf wearing a pale green pillowcase. Narcissa’s ice blond hair had been pulled back in a french twist and she wore silky jade green draped robes that fell off one shoulder and gathered at the waist before falling in a straight column to the floor. “Oh good, you’re finally awake. I was worried you’d sleep through another meal, though you certainly needed the rest considering how awful you looked yesterday.” 

“Yesterday?” Hermione squeaked, dismayed at losing so much time. Who was teaching her classes? And why hadn’t anyone rescued her from the Malfoys yet if she’d been gone that long? Was anyone even looking?

“Mmmhmm,” wandering closer, Narcissa clasped her hands in front of her waist and smiled. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Hermione fought free of the entangling black sheets and her sleep-twisted red velvet robes, almost face-planting on the floor before managing to wrench a foot free. “Why do you care?” Shoving curls out of her face, noting a rusty orange streak running down one white sleeve, she scooted to the edge of the massive bed and stood up, her bare feet sinking into the thick rug below. 

Narcissa looked Hermione up and down, the skin around her eyes tightening. “Because you’re going to be my daughter-in-law and the mother of my grandchildren, restoring my family’s reputation and elevating our magical power for generations to come.” 

Eyes going wide, Hermione shook her head sharply to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming. “What? I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” 

The house-elf moved forward, using her magic to remake the bed while they talked. Hermione spared her a single glance before turning back to Narcissa.

Narcissa started to frown and then forced a smile back onto her face. “Hermione—may I call you that as your new mother-in-law? Now Hermione, you may be plain-looking, disagreeable, and cursed as a mudblood at birth, but magic has chosen to elevate you in power by making you a Sentinel, purifying your dirty blood in the process.” Her smile turned genuine. “You must be so relieved to not have to worry anymore about hiding how your cuts bleed brown.”

“Excuse me?” The woman was obviously mad. Hermione shifted her weight from foot to foot, fingers itching for the feel of her wand. She wondered if Narcissa had it on her or if she’d stashed it somewhere else. “I’m not getting married and my blood is just as red as yours and always has been.”

“Well of course it’s red now that you’re a Sentinel unless you’ve been lying to everyone.” Humming thoughtfully, head tilting, Narcissa casually drew a knife from her robes and sliced the back of Hermione’s hand before Hermione could react. 

Crying out in shock, Hermione stumbled back against the bed. The knife had left a shallow stinging red line on her skin. Pressing down on it with her hand, Hermione took a quick breath and tried not to think of the last time she’d been made to bleed in Malfoy Manor. “You need to let me go or you and your son could get into a lot of trouble. I don’t want to have to hurt you, but I will if I have to. Please be reasonable, give me back my wand, and let me go.” Hermione held out her hand demandingly, proud that her fingers weren’t trembling.

Ignoring her, Narcissa lifted the knife in front of her face and examined it. “Oh good. Red and not brown.” Her expression relaxed. “No need to worry after all.” 

“I said give me back my wand and let me go!” Hermione stepped away from the bed. She would have gone straight to the door but the stern-looking house-elf stepped in front of it and sent Hermione a chiding look.

Putting the knife back in her pocket, Narcissa drifted over to a table against the wall with white flowers in a fluted silver vase. “Wrong,” she muttered fretfully, reaching out a hand to rearrange them. “And we won’t speak of your blood again. The children are better off not knowing what you were. After all, the Malfoy family motto is  _ Sanctimonia Vincet Semper, _ purity will always conquer.”

“Then you should let me go!” Hermione said, looking around for something to use as a weapon. “I’m not meant to be a Malfoy. I don’t want to be!” This entire conversation was crazy. 

“It’s true that you’ll never be good enough for Draco or our family,” Narcissa said slowly, looking up with a sad smile. “It’s good of you to recognize that.”

“So you’ll let me go?” 

Tilting her head to the side, Narcissa looked back at the vase. Her mouth twisted into a snarl. She lifted out the entire bouquet of flowers and threw them violently onto the floor. Leaves, petals, and water exploded across the carpet. Hermione jumped back as cold water spattered her feet. 

Crouching down, Narcissa angrily picked through the broken pieces, finally holding up a flower that had lost all of its petals but one. Peeling off the mangled leaves, she sighed crossly and placed the stem with its single white petal back into the silver vase. “Of course not.” Then, in another rapid mood change, she turned and smiled at Hermione. “Isn’t that better?”

Hermione glanced at the door, trying to calculate if she could make it outside before Narcissa stunned her. The house-elf moved forward, waving her hand and disappearing the mangled flowers from the floor. Hermione’s toes flexed as her eyes darted around the room, mind churning with plans. She shifted back towards the bed.

“You’re going to make the Malfoys great again and give me lots of beautiful grandbabies.” Narcissa smiled dreamily, petting the single white petal with the back of a finger. “I’m sure you’re anxious and excited. I should go and get Draco so you two can get started.” 

She turned to the house-elf. “Make sure to air out the nursery and check the safety charms on the crib and bassinet. We should probably redecorate as well. Maybe something more cheery in yellow?” As Narcissa went to leave, for a moment neither she nor the house-elf were looking directly at Hermione. 

Hermione turned, snatching two of the big fluffy pillows off the bed, and threw them at her jailors, knocking them off their feet. 

Sprinting out the door, Hermione made it almost halfway down the hall before being hit in the back with a  _ Petrificus Totalus _ . Hermione went stiff and tottered forward onto the floor, landing face-first onto a pillow that slid into place at the last second.

“I thought you were supposed to be intelligent?” Narcissa’s jade green robes strode into view. “You almost broke your nose and made yourself even more unappealing to poor Draco. The sooner you learn your place the better things will go for you. I didn’t want to have to do things this way, but really, you’ve left me with no choice.” 

Flicking her wand, Narcissa levitated Hermione back into the bedroom, stood her up, and stuck her to one of the bedposts with a sticking charm. The full-length mirror on the opposite wall showed Hermione standing at stiff attention in twisted and stained red and white dress robes missing all but three of the little pearl buttons that used to run down the front. The red slice on her hand had already scabbed over and her hair frizzed out from her head in crazy waves, failing to hide the burning expression in her eyes.

Narcissa and the house-elf stared at her for a moment before looking at each other and sighing in tandem. If Hermione hadn’t been paralyzed she’d have spit their faces.

“Poor Master Draco,” the house-elf said sadly, worrying at a ribbon stitched on her pale green pillowcase. “Maybe get rid of those awful robes and comb her hair?”

Narcissa curled her lip. “At the least. I can only hope that fate will be kind and not curse the children with such riotous curls. Do your best to make her somewhat appealing to Draco, though I realize the enormity of the request.” Sighing heavily, Narcissa drifted out of the room.

Wringing her hands, the elf paced back and forth across the room muttering, “Appealing to Master Draco, appealing, appealing….”

Hermione tried to fight against the spell but she was completely paralyzed and helpless. Her anger started fizzling beneath a rising tide of fear.

“Yous is going to be a trial for the Malfoy family,” the elf said, stopping in front of Hermione with a frown, “I’s can tell. Cleaning and then hair?” 

The elf gestured and a sweet-smelling pink mist enveloped Hermione from head-to-toe, followed by a snap of heat that made the hair inside her nose feel crisp and her eyes water. Hermione wished she could sneeze. The curls on her head elongated and straightened to their full extension, gaining a new shine before springing back into smooth ringlets that twisted into a series of braids that wound around her head in a crown, leaving only two ringlets free to hang down on either side of her face. Adding a few cosmetic charms to brighten Hermione’s face, the elf nodded in approval. 

Brow furrowed, the elf fingered her bottom lip. “Appealing to Master Draco....” She flicked and twirled her fingers, sending out a spurt of purple sparkles that replaced the dirtied wine red velvet robes with a bright green silk negligee. It was ankle-length with side-slits up to mid-thigh, where the fabric became secured with crisscrossing cords revealing little triangles of skin up to the lace-embellished sweetheart neckline. The negligee was comfortable, somehow both sexy and classy, and the same color as Harry’s eyes. She might like it if she wasn’t tied to a bed and about to be bred like a fancy hippogriff by Draco Malfoy. 

Dear Merlin, please let someone find her in time. Let it be Harry. She wanted Harry. Tears welled in her eyes and dripped down her petrified cheeks.

“Now now, Mistress ‘Mione, is not that bad. Let’s try this.” The elf sent out more purple sparkles, whisking away the negligee and replacing it with a hunter green A-line chiffon dress with short ruffled sleeves, a v-neck, and a flowing layered skirt with panels of lace, knee-length in front and long in the back. Frowning, the house-elf added strappy three-inch ivory heels, making Hermione’s back slide up the bedpost. 

“Not quite.” The elf got rid of the lace and narrowed the sleeves. “No.” The front of the dress dropped to the floor and became fuller, with tulle over silk cinched by a ribbon at the waist. “Closer….” The neckline became straight and lifted to Hermione’s collarbones. Billowing transparent tulle sleeves fell down her arms to tie at the wrist and drape over the tops of her hands. The color lightened to celadon. “Almost…” elaborate floral lace appliques slid across her shoulders and down her chest, joined after a few moments by smaller lace pieces sprinkled from forearm to wrist. The ribbon at her waist darkened to match the lace.

“Lovely.” The elf’s wrinkled features crinkled into a smile and her bat-like ears wiggled as she bounced on her feet. “The dress, that is. As for you… well, I did my best. Let’s just all focus on new babies in the nursery. That’s what's important.” Wagging her finger, she turned and left, leaving the door propped open, not that Hermione could do anything about it since the spell keeping her bound still hadn’t worn off yet.

A few minutes later, Hermione heard voices coming down the hall. She strained against the magic but still couldn’t move. Her stomach churned as she recognized Draco’s voice. 

“There’s really no time for this. I ate breakfast like you demanded but I really need to leave now. Can’t you show me later when I get back?”

“Of course not, darling. This is a happy surprise. Stop arguing with me.”

“Mum,” Draco sounded frustrated as his voice stopped just down the hall. “I don’t think you realize the problem here. We’ve only recently gotten back to a good place socially and financially. We can’t afford to start all over again. I don’t want to start over again!”

“You’re being silly. Why on Earth would we have to start over? Just calm down and come see what I got for you. Our future is looking bright.”

“Let me explain this again. Harry Potter—my mortal enemy from school and the git who somehow took down the Dark Lord—is on a rampage, tearing through anyone who might’ve kidnapped Hermione Granger, a girl I’ve always been mean to.” 

Hermione’s heart jumped in her chest. Harry was back and looking for her!

“Oh, who cares about him. I don’t like talking about the past. Potter doesn’t matter. You do, darling.”

“Yes, thank you, mum, but as the patriarch of our family, I think we do have to worry about him. His magical core seems to have finished maturing sometime after he defeated the Dark Lord, meaning he’s only gotten stronger.”

Narcissa’s voice became thin. “You know I don’t like talking about the Dark Lord. We lost your father soon after….”

“I know and I don’t want you to be worried or bothered. I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go sit out in the garden with your peacocks and an elf can bring you tea while I’m gone.” 

“That does sound nice… but you can't leave yet. First I have to show you your happy surprise. Come.”

“Mum, stop pulling on me! Look, let me explain this again. Potter’s come back from Japan and is destroying ancestral wards in a temper. I need to go out and try to head him off so he leaves us alone. Obviously the spellwork on the Lestrange estate was inferior to ours, but the fact that he probably still hates us and is willing to break down Goblin warded doors in his search means that it’s only a matter of time before he comes here. He rendered the Lestrange estate unlivable without extensive repairs! And they can’t sue because too many dark artifacts were found in the wreckage. The parents fled in the night after sending their son back to Hogwarts with a letter turning guardianship over to a cousin.”

“I never liked the Lestranges. They ruined my sister you know.”

“I know, Mum, and you need to let me leave so I can stop Potter from ruining us.”

“But we’re safe here. The anti-apparition wards are up and the gates are locked. Our wards are much older and more powerful than some cadet branch of the Lestranges. We’re Malfoys. We’ll be fine.”

“I’d rather not test that. In less than twenty-four hours, Potter destroyed the Lestranges and then exposed and ripped apart Goyle’s little smuggling enterprise, sending half a dozen people to prison. Potter probably would’ve been by here already except I heard he got caught in the backsplash of an exploding cauldron and had to be treated overnight at Saint Mungo’s for something stupid. I need to head him off and go round to my friends to make sure they haven’t done anything too mental.” 

“You can do that later,” Narcissa said, finally appearing in the doorway with Draco’s wrist clutched in one hand as she pulled him forward. “This is more important. I want grandbabies.”

“Babies? I need a wife first for that. I don’t even have a decent girl...friend.” Draco, silver-blond hair slicked back and bespoke black robes swishing, stepped into the room and tripped at seeing Hermione stuck to the bedpost at attention. 

If Hermione knew how to cast a wandless and wordless killing curse, he’d be DEAD. She poured all of her rage and antipathy into her glare.

The blood drained from Draco’s face. Eyes wide, his mouth dropped open. He pointed at Hermione, turned to his mother, and sputtered wordlessly before making wounded dolphin noises.

“Don’t spit, dear, it’s uncouth.” Narcissa patted his arm and moved to the bed behind Hermione. It sounded like she was turning back the covers, but Hermione couldn’t turn her head to see.

“What did you do?!” Draco’s shrieked, hands plunging into his hair and making the slicked back strands stick up in all directions.

Clucking her tongue, Narcissa walked back into view. “Don’t shout so; you’ll strain my nerves. I was merely being a good mother and preparing your marriage bed. No one breeds better than a Sentinel girl. She’ll give us lots of babies.” Stopping in front of Draco, she gave him a warm smile. “Aren’t you happy?

“NO!”

Narcissa’s face crumpled and her eyes turned glassy. “I thought you’d be happy. She’ll give you children, multiple powerful children. You know most pureblood witches have trouble birthing more than one. I’ve always felt so bad for making you grow up an only child.” A tear streaked down her porcelain cheek.

“It’s fine, mum, don’t cry. I’m sorry for shouting at you.” Draco patted her back with a grimacing smile.

Narcissa gave a hitching sigh. “Then you’ll breed her and give me grandchildren? We can do the marriage ritual this afternoon. I’ve got almost everything ready to go, the kitchens just need to finish with the cake and ten-course meal and the nursery needs updating.” She wiped her face and gestured to Hermione and the bed. “Well go on.”

Expression shuttering, Draco gave a slow nod. “Okay. I understand.” He turned to look at Hermione. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Oh good!” Conjuring herself a chair, Narcissa sat down and crossed her legs, staring between Draco and Hermione with an expectant smile, tears gone. When Draco didn’t move, she said, “Go ahead, don’t mind me. I’ll just sit here and dream about my grandbabies.” 

Draco wiped a hand down his face, “Look, if I'm going to do this, I can’t have my mum watching me… perform. You should go and check on the peacocks. I heard one of them mention missing you.”

“Oh, the poor dears.” Narcissa stood up fretfully. “With the excitement of kidnapping your bride and preparing for the wedding, I suppose they’ve been feeling neglected. I hope they didn’t start dismembering each other or hunting the house-elves again in boredom.”

“You should go and check,” Draco said evenly before tilting his head to the side. “Oh, and what happened to Granger’s wand?”

“Here.” Nose wrinkling, Narcissa pulled out Hermione’s wand with two fingers like a dead rat and tossed it to Draco, who snatched it out of the air with an echo of his old seeker reflexes and tucked it away into his robes. 

Hermione watched with her heart in her throat, desperately wishing she had the wand in her hand and could curse both of them. 

Pausing in the doorway, Narcissa looked back over her shoulder. “Do remember that the chit is barely civilized. The anti-apparition wards are up and I increased the number of creatures patrolling the grounds, but she’s already tried to escape once on foot. I think she’s confused. Make her fall in love with you quickly so we can get good wedding photos and have a pleasant dinner tonight. It shouldn’t be too hard for a handsome boy like you.” She reached out and patted Draco’s cheek with a loving smile, then left the room humming under her breath, presumably to go and visit the peacocks.

Closing the door, Draco rubbed his face with a sigh. Dropping his hand, he turned and looked at Hermione. After a moment he sauntered closer. 

The spell on Hermione had finally started to weaken. Not enough to escape, but she was able to twist her face into an expression of extreme loathing. If he touched her she’d fight him tooth and nail. She made sure to let the violence of her thoughts splash across her face.

Lips twitching, Draco started to laugh, harder and harder until he was bent over, hands braced on his knees and practically wheezing. “You! Here!” Sounding winded, Draco wiped tears from his eyes and stood up straight. “Okay, now that I’ve got that out of my system,” he reached out as if to touch her. 

Hermione couldn’t keep from flinching. Her fingers and toes curled but refused to do more to help her escape. Acid rose up her throat.

Draco paused, mirth fading from his features. “I just wanted to see if you’re tied with chains or stuck with magic. I’m not going to hurt you.” He stepped to the side and looked at where her back pressed against the bedpost before nodding and moving back. “Just magic. That makes it easier.”

Hermione felt her lip start to tremble and swallowed hard, pressing it flat. Her left ankle flexed. She rotated it, wondering if the rest of her leg would recover soon so she could kick him.

Pulling out his wand, Draco stepped back and sat down in the conjured chair, staring at her thoughtfully. “Look, this is all my mum’s doing and, though I love her dearly, you probably noticed that she’s a bit cracked since my father died.” Lips twisting down, he looked to the side. “Granger, I’ve never once thought of having you in my bed. Ever. And even if I had, I’d never force someone, much less someone like you.” 

About to start relaxing, Hermione tensed again, bracing for Draco’s insults. Despite her best efforts over the years, he often managed to get inside her head with his cruel words. 

Lifting his head, pale eyes gleaming, Draco waited for a beat before saying, “I know you’re vindictive and secretly evil.”

Blinking at him, Hermione found herself almost smiling. That felt like a compliment. 

Then he had to add, “You’d bite off my dick at the first chance.” 

Which, yes, true, but a bit crass and not necessary to mention since he’d just assured her there would be no naked times.

Draco tilted his head to the side and snorted. “Though I suppose the hate-sex would be amazing.” Smirking, he stood up abruptly. 

Feeling mental whiplash, Hermione braced herself for something awful. 

As if reading her thoughts, Draco raised his wand and paused cruelly, letting the tension rise, before unexpectedly canceling the body-binding curse. 

Hermione grunted as her muscles relaxed and let her body droop. Being able to move again felt glorious. However, she was still attached to the bedpost with the sticking charm. “I’m still stuck,” she reminded him, glaring. 

Rolling his shoulders, Draco stayed just out of reach. “Luckily for you, I want peace in my bedroom, not conflict. I got my fill of that as a teen. We all did.”

Subsiding for the moment, she watched him warily. “So? What does that mean?”

“It means I’m going to help you escape,” he held up a finger, “as long as you promise not to attack me.”

Realizing she was low on options, Hermione grudgingly nodded. “Fine.”

Draco cautiously stepped back and canceled the sticking charm. 

Tottering forward, Hermione rolled her stiff shoulders and adjusted the fall of her dress. She had to turn her face away and just breathe for a moment, pacing on the other side of the room, before finding the fortitude to turn back. “Okay, what’s the plan?”

“We’re going to go upstairs to my bedroom and—”

“No,” she said, snapping her teeth and glancing down toward his belt. “You weren’t wrong about the biting. Just give me my wand and get me to the door. I’ll run until I’m off the estate and apparate away.”

Draco gave her a flat look. “Even if the traps don’t get you, the servants don’t see you, and you don’t trip flat on your face running through the grass in heels, you’ll still be eaten alive by peacocks before you get that far and before you ask, no, you’re not allowed to stun or disembowel them. My mother loves those things. I have a plan if you’d just let me finish.”

Pursing her lips, Hermione waved her hand. She moved away from the bed and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms and letting her fingers dangle by the fluted silver vase with its single sad flower stem.

“Now we’re going to go upstairs to my bedroom and—”

Hermione grabbed the fluted silver vase and chucked it at his head, forcing Draco to duck. It hit the wall, gouging the emerald and silver wallpaper.

“Granger, for Merlin’s sake. Listen to me!”

“I’m not going to your bedroom, Malfoy!”

Sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, Draco held his hands out in a calming gesture. “Look, I get that you don’t trust me. I’m used to not being trusted. All of my family is and that’s how we’re going to get you out of here. Just follow my lead and you’ll soon be someone else’s problem.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not following you anywhere without a good reason.”

Draco rocked on his feet and chewed on his lip for a moment before nodding sharply as if making up his mind. “Alright, fine. I’m going to share a secret with you that even most purebloods have forgotten or never known about. I learned it from one of the family portraits my mother brought with her when she married my father. When the anti-apparition spell was first invented, the sacred twenty-eight all paid the same powerful witch, one of my Black ancestors, to ward their manor houses and—since none of the Lords fully trusted each other or even most of their own family members—they all wanted a secret apparition escape route left intact. The witch in question was either lazy or had a deplorable sense of humor—she refuses to admit to which—and figured out how to curve the ward boundary of the new spell in a single spot so you could apparate out but not in. She then copied the same rune pattern for everyone, letting each Lord think they were the only one.”

Hermione’s lips parted. “Which means….” 

Smirking, Draco nodded. “There’s always a balcony on the second floor in the northeast corner that allows you to apparate out. I’ve taken advantage of it many times over the last few years to escape uncomfortable dinner parties with no one ever figuring out how. My bedroom is right next to it.” He crossed his arms cockily.

Blowing out a slow breath, she nodded. “Okay. So I go along as if you’re actually seducing me and when we get to your bedroom—”

“You distract me with your meager feminine wiles, daringly steal your wand from my pocket, run to the balcony, and miraculously figure out how to apparate away. How unfortunate for me and my mother’s dreams of grandbabies. I’ll scream and shout, maybe even shed a tear at your loss.” His lips twitched and he wiped an imaginary tear from his face. 

Her return look was not amused. “Pretending to be seduced by you is going to be difficult. Can I have my wand?” She held out her hand demandingly.

Draco shook his head. “I don’t want you hexing me in the back. You’ll get it when we reach my room and not a moment before.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her against his side. “Now come along, darling, and remember to act like you’re falling in love with me. You don’t want my mother getting suspicious.” He grinned at her appalled face and pulled her out into the hall. 

Digging her nails into the back of his hand as a house-elf walked by carrying a box, Hermione snuggled close. “Whatever you say, snookums.” 

It was Draco’s turn to wince and look appalled. “Watch it,” he muttered from the corner of his mouth.

They made it all the way to the top of the staircase before running into anyone else. The wrinkled house-elf who’d dressed Hermione came out of a door down the hall and paused, looking at them with surprise and growing suspicion. “Master Draco?”

Hermione spun Draco around and crushed him against the wall, yanking his head down and burying his face in her neck. “Yes, Malfoy, yes!” she gasped. “More!”

Following her lead, Draco produced a raunchy and surprisingly convincing moan. “Oh yeah, do that again,” he urged loudly before moaning again. “Oh, baby.”

“Oh! Oh ohhh, ummm, yeahhh….” Swallowing a giggle, she tried for sultry but had a feeling she wasn’t even close considering the way he lifted his head just enough so she could see him rolling his eyes at her even as he pressed his bony hips forward. They dug in bruisingly hard. No wonder he didn’t have a girlfriend if this was how he made out with one. “Oh Malfoy, who knew you could be so… so warm and—and,” she floundered and he shot her an irritated look, “manly.” She swallowed another inappropriate laugh and buried her face in his shoulder. 

He smelled like bacon and the lemon wedge he’d squeezed into his tea. The lemon was nice but the bacon combined with his natural musk unpleasantly. Was the house-elf buying this? “Oh yes!” She sighed with gusto and started to pant heavily as if overcome by lust. 

“Quick, let’s take this to my bedroom,” Draco said in a strangled voice, pulling away just enough to get them moving down the hall. 

They passed the old house-elf in her pale green pillowcase and tumbled into his room, still entwined. Only after slamming the door shut did they spring away from each other.

“So gross,” Hermione whined.

“Ugh!” Snatching up his pajamas from the foot of his bed, Draco scrubbed at his neck where she’d been breathing heavily. “You made me moist! That was disgusting and the lace on your dress scratched me. I can’t believe you put me through all that for a house-elf! Who cares what they see? I thought my mother was with her or a tradesman!” 

Dropping the pajamas to the floor, Draco strode to a set of double doors and thrust them open, letting in the chill of fall. “Come on.”

Hermione followed him outside past billowing white curtains onto a spacious balcony. Looking around, she saw stone urns inlaid with precious stones in various shades of green and a table with two chairs. “This is the northeast corner? Will anywhere do or should I stand somewhere in particular?”

“It’s always the outside corner, as close to the edge of the railing as you can get.” Draco gestured. 

Hermione moved forward, turning and pushing herself up so she was sitting on the railing. Her tulle skirts puffed up around her, making her perch slippery. “Like this?”

“Yeah.” Reaching into his robe, Draco pulled out her wand and held it out, though he didn’t let go right away when she grabbed it. Instead, he stared up into her eyes intently. The morning sun turned his irises a liquid grey that made her think of standing at her Hogwarts office window nibbling on a piece of toast and watching the movement of the clouds reflected in the Great Lake, wondering at the hidden depths. 

“I know you’ve got a right to be mad, but I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t have my mother arrested.” Lips quirking, Draco let go of her wand. “Or me. Channel all of that aggression into your reunion with Potter. Put the poor boy out of his misery.”

“Hey!” 

Ignoring her, Draco turned his back, lifted his hand in farewell, and disappeared past the billowing white curtains into his room.

Hermione turned her mind to picturing the small yard in front of her cottage. The dogwood tree’s shimmering crimson and orange stems should be full of bright red leaves this time of year. The grass would be long and yellowed since she hadn’t been back to trim it for several weekends and the weather had turned chill. Last spring, Harry had helped her paint the picket fence white and the door and shutters robin’s egg blue. It was a good memory. She’d felt safe and happy there. 

Calling on her magic, Hermione apparated away, arriving in front of her cottage none the worse for wear. She only had a moment to feel relieved that her new Sentinel senses weren’t giving her any trouble before she heard a man shriek in terror. 

Wand up, she dropped to a crouch behind the dead flower stems she hadn’t gotten around to trimming and tried to see what was going on on the other side of the yard through the bumpy trunk and crimson leaves of the dogwood tree. 

“Where is she!” The voice filled the yard like smoke from a dragon’s maw seconds before it burned you to death. The frightful impression was so strong that it took Hermione a moment to realize that the fell voice belonged to  _ Harry _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it is my birthday today, I am uploading the chapter as a gift to you all. The next chapter is the finale! With Harry and Hermione together, Yay! Thanks for reading and good job to SirSassquatch, Ear906, Genevieve, dizzysappedweak for guessing Narcissa was the kidnapper. Pictures of the dresses in this chapter are on my tumblr. I seriously love your comments and support so much. Thank you!


	11. Chapter 11

“Where is she!” Harry’s voice filled the yard, sinking into her hindbrain with a little wiggle and purr. She really had come home, in all senses of the word.

At that moment she finally realized that the intoxicating smell she’d been noticing wasn’t coming from the dried flower bushes and bright autumn leaves crumbled beneath her feet. It came from Harry. Eyes going heavy-lidded, Hermione breathed in deep, greedy to experience Harry as a full Sentinel. He smelled fresh and musky in all the right ways, sending a tingle through her body that warmed her from her toes to the tip of her nose. Hermione wanted to bury herself in the source and never come up for air, wanted it curling around her for the rest of her life.

Through a gap in the crimson foliage of the dogwood she caught movement. The tree and bushes blocked most of her view, but she could make out the shape of a man hanging head down with his feet kicking at the sky under the influence of a levicorpus. It wasn’t Harry or she would’ve run to his rescue. Instead she made herself wait and try to figure out what she was seeing. 

She caught a hint of dark blond hair but couldn’t make out the face through the leaves and bushes she’d landed behind. Gravity had pulled the man’s robes down to his armpits, but thankfully he wore a shirt and trousers so she wasn’t forced to see any dingy underpants. He was probably equally grateful to be spared the indignity. She felt a pang of sympathy. The legs began sinking down. The man contorted himself at the waist and cried out, trying to avoid hitting the pointy branches below.

“No! Please, I lied! I lied!” The voice sounded familiar but the identity hovered just out of her reach. 

It was hard to focus with Harry so close by, smelling like the favored son of Honeydukes and Flourish and Blotts. She wanted to run out and jump on him, riding him to the ground so he couldn’t escape her desperate need to pull him close, memorize him with her new senses, and never let him go far from her side again. But she wasn’t controlled by her instincts and desires. She shouldn’t go rushing out headlong into possible danger. That could lead to someone getting hurt and Harry getting hurt because of her would at this point make her homicidal. 

Brushing curls out of her eyes, Hermione got down on hands and knees, tulle skirts billowing around her like an inconvenient cloud, and forced herself to peek around the bushes instead of running out into the open. 

The first thing she noticed was the faint glimmer in the corner of her eye from the side of her yard where salted caramel and the electricity before a storm called to her in a way that she’d learned meant the presence of a strong magical ley line. She wanted to go over and bask in it, to soak in the powerful wild magic with Harry until they were giddy and overflowing. 

Except she had to figure out what was going on out there first to head off the possibility of interruptions. The autumn breeze kicked up, cutting right through the tulle of her dress, the volume worthless as an insulator when it was full of little holes, making her shiver. Overhead the leaves rustled musically and fell, twirling onto her and over the ground like red confetti.

The man hanging upside down in the air jerked and twisted, finally giving her a glimpse of his face. It was Cormac. Her sympathy and slight disapproval over hanging someone upside down in midair fizzled like a candle in the rain. Cormac deserved worse after trying to force her to zone out and come home with him as some sort of trophy bride and breeder of magical sons.

Creeping around the bush, Hermione finally got a clear look at the scene and saw Harry and his stag Hartford, but no one else. The spirit animal had gone corporeal and, nostrils flared, stood with the tips of his sharp antlers only a threatening handbreadth below Cormac’s purpling cheeks and sweat-soaked hair. Harry stood on the far side with wildfire in his eyes and brimstone practically smoking from his brow. 

“I’m losing patience with you, Cormac.” Harry’s black hair ruffled in the faint breeze, exposing his faded lightning bolt scar. Green eyes narrowed behind his glasses, he took a slow step forward, menace radiating from him like a lidded glass cauldron rattling on a roaring fire. 

Hermione bit her lip. Maybe it was wrong, but right then she found Harry almost unbearably sexy. Being hunted by Harry, and all the delicious possibilities of being caught, zipped to the top of her private fantasy list.

“I don’t know, I don’t,” Cormac gasped. 

Stepping closer, Harry cocked his head and drummed his fingers on his thigh. “Look, I’ve had a very hard couple of days, so please understand me when I say I lost my patience somewhere back in Asia. I can’t tell if you were lying then or are lying now. Your fear and cowardice is overwhelming everything else and my Guide gifts are too new for me to trust them when it comes to something this important. Maybe you need more incentive.” 

Harry flicked his wand and Cormac started bobbing up and down in the air, narrowly missing the sharp points of Hartford’s antlers, which she’d mistaken for branches earlier. “Have you ever seen a man gored by a stag? Or perhaps you’d like to lose an eye like Mad Eye Moody? You better start talking. Maybe I should use my Guide gifts to rip your mind to shreds and give you nightmares for the rest of your life. I have a lot of experience with nightmares.” Hartford tossed his head and a prong caught the tip of Cormac’s ear, leaving a red scratch. 

Cormac cried out and wrapped his arms around his head. “Stop!” he shrieked. “I lied, I did, I lied about having her so you would stop looking and I could get to her first. I thought she’d be here and I was going to force her to come home with me so I could take care of her. That’s it.” He started crying. “I swear that’s it. I don’t know where Hermione is.”

She probably wouldn’t get a better cue than that, though Cormac was a real rat bastard. Why had she ever dated him? Ugh! 

Hermione clambered to her feet, tugging her tulle skirts free from the entangling branches and shaking off scarlet and gold bits of leaves as she hopped into the sunlight. “Harry!” 

Head snapping up with a gasp, Harry drank her in with wide eyes. “Hermione.” He sagged, as if freed from a huge weight. Rubbing his face roughly, he quietly murmured, “Thank Magic, Merlin, and Hecate.”

Tossing Cormac’s wand onto the ground, Harry’s lips twisted. “Cormac, stop being an arse and stay away from Hermione and me. Maybe you’ll live to see Christmas. Let Hogwarts and the Ministry know that I’m with her and to call off the search.” He waved his wand dismissively, cancelling the levicorpus as he stepped to the side to better see Hermione. 

Cormac shrieked as he dropped. Hartford took a step back just in time and grunted derisively as Cormac flipped and slammed belly-first onto the ground. Curling up, Cormac gave a gurgling gasp. His hand scrabbled through the leaves blindly until he found his wand and then with a sloppy bang he apparated away. 

Hartford threw his head back and bugled before turning to Hermione. He pranced forward and nuzzled her cheek, his fur soft and warm and his spiritual energy like stepping into sunlight. She closed her eyes to focus on the sensation, but only had a moment before she felt him go insubstantial. Opening her eyes, she watched as Hartford turned translucent and disappeared. Hermione wondered if all spirit animals knew each other and if her otter would one day be able to manifest corporally too.

“Are you alright?” Harry didn’t run forward and sweep her up in his arms like she’d hoped, instead rocking forward and back on his feet as he watched her with a furrowed brow and suddenly uncertain eyes. “I heard what happened at your trial.” She felt a sick jolt in her gut at the reminder and her shoulders hunched in. Harry’s lips turned down and a muscle started ticking in his jaw. “What Dumbledore did to you and why. I’m so sorry.”

Hermione swallowed hard. She’d been doing pretty well not thinking about that since she’d woken up. “Yeah.” Without her conscious volition she drifted over to stand in the heart of the leyline. The flow of wild magic flowed around her like the warm embrace she’d been hoping for.

“I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out. Sorry that he did it because of me. It’s okay if you’re mad at me. I should’ve known somehow. I should’ve—” turning away abruptly, breathing hard, Harry kicked at a fallen branch, breaking it with a loud  _ crack  _ that made her flinch and sending the pieces flying far across the yellowed grass.

“No one knew. Even I didn’t know. The magic was designed that way.” Wringing her hands, she looked down. “There’s a chance he did it to other Sentinels and Guides too, so mentioning you might’ve just been an excuse. Who knows? But I don’t want to talk about  _ him  _ right now. I want to talk about much more important things.”  _ Like us _ , she thought, Harry’s mood and angry pacing making the words stick in her throat. 

It wasn’t fair. Their reunion wasn’t supposed to go like this. “Look, I’ve had a hard few days too, you know.”

Harry spun around, the morning sun glinting off his glasses and obscuring his eyes. “Speaking of which, where have you been?” He threw his hands up in the air. “I’ve been going crazy looking for you! I imagined all sorts of horrible things! Yet here you are, swanning in wearing a fancy ball gown at half past nine in the morning! I mean, you look—you look,” he gestured at her sharply before his eyes caught and his staccato delivery faltered.

The anger washed from his face, replaced by a rising tide of appreciation and reverence. His eyes lingered on the ribbon cinching her waist, sliding down her hips and legs before moving up to get caught on the drape of soft fabric over her bosom and arms. Her skin sizzled beneath the heavy weight of his gaze, her blood catching fire as she wondered what he’d do next. She could smell how much she was affecting him, could hear his pulse kick up and see his skin flush with heat. It made things low in her belly clench and her mouth water. Hermione couldn’t help but suck in a deep breath, making her chest heave and strain against the fabric of the dress. 

Harry’s eyes dilated, changing into rings of green fire against his black surge of desire. It made her feel powerful. Wanted. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, dragging his eyes up over her neck and across her ear before dropping to her mouth and lingering. He licked his lips. “You look... amazing, just really really...beautiful….” He swayed forward, almost close enough to touch. 

Hermione parted her lips, hoping for a kiss. Harry’s hands lifted as if to pull her into an embrace, hovering for a moment before he shook his head sharply and looked away. He stepped back, his lips pressing tight as he breathed in hard through his nose. “But you worried a lot of people. You worried me. What happened to your promise of no trouble or mischief until I got back?”

He was giving her emotional whiplash. Frustrated, hands going to her hips, Hermione glared. “Really Harry? That was a promise for six weeks. You’ve been gone for almost six months! And now that we’re together all you’re doing is yelling at me instead of giving me the hug I deserve.”

Hands going behind his neck, Harry dropped his eyes and kicked moodily at the ground, knuckles going white. “Dumbledore hurt you because of me. What happened to you is all my fault,” he finished wretchedly. “You probably don’t want anything to do with me or my hugs.”

“No, it’s Dumbledore’s fault from start to finish,” she said viciously. “None of this is your fault or my fault! He’s the bad guy here! You’re not to blame!” Lungs heaving, she pointed a finger at him, “Except for the fact that you’re not listening to me! Or using your Guide gifts to sense my feelings because you still haven’t given me a hug! It’s one thing if you don’t want to hug me, but I always ALWAYS want to hug you.”

Looking at her from the corner of his eye, Harry sighed. After a moment his lips quirked. “Always? Even if you’ve just started reading a new book?” He moved closer. “Or you’re writing the last paragraph of a report? Even if I just got back from a pickup game of quidditch and my robes are soaked with sweat?” Reaching out, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his mouth going soft, he skimmed his fingertips over the surface of her hair, pulling out and dropping a scarlet leaf. 

“Always,” she told him breathlessly, her scalp tingling from the light touch. 

Harry’s eyes glanced down and to the side. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. 

“Harry?”

He looked back at her with suspiciously wet eyelashes. Swallowing, he tried again, voice hoarse, “Even if you had to rescue yourself and I was a jerk and yelled at my best friend instead of telling her how scared I was, how desperately I missed her, and how good it is to see her again? Even if I keep messing up?”

Sniffling against the sudden stinging of her nose, Hermione nodded and reached out, linking her pinky finger around Harry’s. They both looked down and gave a shuddery sigh at the contact, the touch of skin on skin like the union of electrical wires, completing a circuit and lighting up a world gone dim and dreary over months of separation. 

“Always, Harry. Even if,” she tugged on his pinky and waited for him to look at her so she could arch a brow, “I come back to you crawling out of the bushes in a leaf-covered evening dress at half past nine in the morning after disappearing against my will—”

“What? Who—” Brows slamming down, Harry’s shoulders tensed and the muscles in his arms bulged, as if eager to rush off and crush her enemies. 

Which was nice and all, but, Hermione had much more important and immediate plans for those shoulders and arms, “—even then, I will still want a hug from you.” 

Now that she had him in her grasp, even if just a pinky finger, Hermione not only didn’t want to stop touching him, she wanted to touch him more, touch him everywhere and memorize all of his public and private places. The thought of having to stop touching him at some point caused actual pain to shoot through her chest. This was the man meant to stay by her side forever, a partner in both magic and spirit. She wanted him. Desperately.

Her instincts were clamoring at her to bond with her Guide. Her intellect was hollering that now was the perfect time and place to jump him and go from deep friendship to a deeper romance. A hug was just the start, though a much hoped for and delicious start. 

Bowing his head, Harry lifted their linked hands and pressed a lingering kiss into her palm. Hermione’s breath caught at the feel of his lips: plush, slightly chapped, incredibly warm, and oh so real. Waves of tingles travelled up her arm and throughout her body. 

“What the lady wants, the lady should get,” Harry murmured as he finally, at long last, slid his arms around her back, pulled her close against his warm body, and hugged her. Mouth dropping to her ear, Harry whispered huskily, “Especially because I always want to hug you too.” His arms tightened and his voice turned to gravel, “Always.”

Holding him just as tightly, she slid her arms up over his shoulders and buried her face in his neck, breathing in deep, until there was nothing but Harry’s touch and Harry’s scent. Nothing but Harry’s magic and indomitable spirit, forces that felt almost tangible with the wild magic of the leyline rushing through her and her Sentinel senses opening wide. All was finally right in her world. 

Hermione sank into the embrace of Harry’s magic and body, lowering all barriers as she memorized the nuances of his body. His Guide aura slid over and through her, a new sensation that nevertheless felt as comforting and essential as a warm meal on an empty belly. Something restless and achy deep in her soul quieted with a contented sigh. Time lost all meaning as she drifted in bliss, not caring if she zoned on the scent of his skin or the shape of the freckle beneath his ear, not caring if he read all her secrets. This was her Guide. This was Harry.

When she came back to herself some unknown time later, her eyes and mouth felt dry as if she hadn’t blinked or swallowed in too long. It was a small complaint compared to the rest of the happy signals coming from her body. Harry was stroking a hand up and down her back, making her understand intimately why cats arch their backs and purr. The morning sun slid through a break in the clouds and highlighted a bit of stubble on the corner of his jaw that he’d missed during his last shave, reminding her of gilding on statues. He hummed softly, the lilting vibrations travelling through her body in pleasant waves, strongest where she had her face pressed against the base of his throat. He’d undone several buttons because her mouth and cheek rested against warm, bare skin. Her lips were parted just enough to get a teasing taste of salty skin each time he inhaled. 

From one second to the next the hug flipped from comforting to arousing. She wanted to open her mouth wider for a better taste, wanted to scrape her teeth over that bit of stubble and suck on the pulse beneath his jaw, feeling it jump and race beneath her tongue, wanted to leave a mark on his skin she’d see every time she looked at him. She wanted— 

“Are you back with me, Sentinel?” She felt as much as heard his words vibrate though her body.

Hermione throttled back her possessive desires and inhaled slowly. She lifted her head and blinked up into his familiar green eyes, sliding her hands over the warm, muscular planes of his back. “Guide.” This was nice. She could live here, wrapped up in his arms. 

“You got lost in your senses there for a while.”

Shrugging, she gave him a lazy smile. “What can I say? I like hugging you.” Something about his scent changed as his eyes dropped to the curve of her lips and became heavy lidded. She arched back in his arms to better see his expression, breathing in deep at the spicy tang now filling the air. “You smell good. Really good.”

“So do you.” Harry reached up and brushed a curl off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. The slide of his finger felt magnified on her skin and made everything but his touch and the look in his eyes go hazy. 

“Are you okay? Really?” He slid his hand back to cup her neck, his thumb resting just behind the hinge of her jaw as he examined her face. 

“I’m working on it.” She gave a small shrug, careful not to dislodge his hand. “I did get to destroy Dumbledore’s portrait in the Wizengamot, which was pretty great. Did you hear how he tried to hide in Fleamont’s portrait and Fleamont literally kicked his arse to force him back into his own to face his punishment like a man?”

Harry smirked. “I stopped by to talk to him while I was at the Ministry looking for you. He gave me a very informative and entertaining blow by blow and cautioned me to stay on your good side. I promised to do my best. He said some other things, but… I wasn’t sure if I could trust them since they sounded too good to be true.”

“Like what?” she asked quietly, the space between them thrumming with tension. 

His thumb traced down her jaw, leaving a line of heat that felt delicious. Reaching her chin, eyes going heavy-lidded, he stroked back and forth through the dip below her lower lip, making her cheeks flush and her lips part and tingle. Her skin felt hyper-sensitized to his touch. The world muted, everything disappearing except for the two of them and the space between their bodies.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked into the expectant hush.

Heavenly choirs burst into song, forest animals danced with joy, and wards dissolved off bookshelves. Hermione, already moving forward before Harry even finished his sentence, breathed “Yes,” against his lips, the warm hiss of her breath rebounding off his mouth and filling her nose with the intoxication of their combined scents.

Their first kiss started slow and soft. Their lips met, slid, adjusted, and rubbed as the kiss deepened in increments, each plateau feeling like the height of pleasure and perfection before the kiss shifted to become something even greater. It blew all of her other experiences out of the water. 

Harry’s lips were the perfect combination of soft and firm as they coaxed her to let go of all her fears and inhibitions, to just be with him. She sighed, learning the shape and rhythm of their mutual desire. He tasted like all her dreams come true, like the comfort of home and the thrill of adventure. She felt his mouth curve even as happiness bubbled through her veins. They pulled back just enough to share a look of mutual joy and discovery.

“Wow,” Harry laughed softly, his pupils blown to solid black as he stared at her mouth.

“Mmm-hmm.” Hermione ran her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip, tasting him there. “Who knew?”

“I did, or at least... I hoped.” Harry pressed a kiss to her mouth, pulling back to gaze intently into her eyes only to come back for a second and third helping, each kiss lingering longer than the last. “I never lost hope,” he confessed with aching tenderness. “I couldn’t give up on you, on us.”

Eternally grateful, Hermione hummed against his mouth and pressed herself closer, crossing her arms behind his head and reassuring him with each touch that she was here with him. That they were together now. She was more than happy to indulge in as much kissing as needed to soothe both their fears. 

She was just happy to be kissing him. Happiness warmed her from the inside out. Every touch felt magnified, every new discovery something about Harry that she hadn’t known and never wanted to forget. 

Eventually their kisses turned languid and soft. They slowly drew apart, their foreheads touching as they gazed into each other's eyes and breathed each other's air.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for what feels like forever,” Harry said softly before something flickered in his eyes.

“What?” she asked, pulling back just enough to see his expression more clearly.

Harry shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe, but I can tell it’s bothering you anyway even after all that kissing, so tell me.”

He tensed beneath her hands, his dark lashes concealing his eyes like a feathered courtship fan in Victorian England as he seemed to choose his words carefully. “I didn’t get a chance to hear all of the details from your trial beyond the highlights because I’ve been trying to find you since you disappeared. Either way it’s fine, but I was just wondering... I’ve confessed to you so many times before, but you never seemed interested. Did your feelings only change while I was gone or was the spell keeping you from loving me?”

“Huh?”

Harry bit his lip. “You ignored or changed the subject every time I tried to ask you out or talk about my feelings for you. I just wondered.” He looked down and toed at the overgrown grass. “But like I said, it doesn’t really matter.”

It felt like a dragon had landed on her chest. “Wait, what? When did you ever ask me… out….” A sudden slideshow of memories bobbed to the forefront of her mind, some speeding by so fast she had trouble seeing them clearly but others stark in their details. “Oh Merlin. I… oh! I didn’t know. I didn’t realize. I—the spell—it wouldn’t let me. Oh!” 

Stumbling back from Harry, she began furiously pacing the lawn, kicking at piles of leaves and the fall of her tulle skirt when either got in her way. “That bastard,” she seethed, teeth grinding, wishing she knew necromancy to kill Dumbledore all over again. 

So many confusing interactions and inexplicable arguments with Harry suddenly made perfect sense in light of the things she’d been forced to dismiss or forget. Sometimes the magic had let her remember until she’d fallen asleep, other times it had blanked his words within seconds. Either way she’d never been able to really listen or think about them, never been able to respond with the truth in her heart.

Marching back to Harry, she grabbed the front of his robes. “Now you listen!” Growling, she yanked him into a hard kiss, pulling back to give him a shake. “You are so much more than just a friend! Even when the spell wouldn’t let me say or even think it too hard, I’ve always loved you first and best.” She shook him again and planted another hard kiss on his mouth, followed by his cheeks, brow, and chin. “I love you.” She shook him again, desperate for him to believe her, giddy at her ability to say it. “I love you.” She peppered his face with kisses. 

“You don’t need to shake me, I believe you.” Harry’s laugh sounded giddy. He swept her hands back up around his neck and twirled her so she had to press herself close. Swinging to a stop, he pressed a kiss against her mouth that felt like a brand. “I love you.” He gave her another hard kiss. “I love you.” 

Emotions high, she opened her lips to respond and felt his tongue slide into her mouth faster and smoother than a seeker diving for a snitch. She welcomed the deeper kiss, burying her fingers in his hair and angling her mouth against his as waves of love and desire washed between them like an incoming tide, rising higher and higher to erase the footsteps and hurts of the past and uncover their bright future. Together.

“I love you so much,” Harry breathed against her lips, trailing kisses up her cheek and brow. “I’m so grateful we get to be together, so glad I get to be Guide to your Sentinel.” He paused and pulled back, suddenly hesitant. “That is, if you want me for your Guide. You don’t have to bond with me. I’m more than happy with this,” he rubbed a finger over her bottom lip, “with whatever you want to share with me.”

“Harry, of course I want you as my Guide!” Hermione felt exasperated. “We just went through this. I love you, more than anything or anyone. You’re the one for me.” She shook him gently and reached up to brush a lock of black hair off his brow. Cupping his cheek, she stared into his eyes. “I want you to listen and believe me now. Feel me with your Guide empathy and forget all those past conversations that instilled you with so much doubt. That wasn’t me. Those weren’t my real words and feelings. This is me. Uncoerced. Honest. Free to choose. You’re my one, Harry, my Guide and the love of my life. I want everything with you,” she told him fiercely 

Gulping, Harry turned his head and nuzzled against her palm. “Oh Hermione, my Sentinel, my love,” Harry mouthed against her skin. He huffed a laugh. “I can feel you. I can feel your love and it’s glorious. I’ll try not to be such a numpty from now on, but…” pulling back he flashed her a wickedly teasing look through his lashes.

“But what?” She arched her brow, excited to see where that look was leading.

“But you’re going to have to give me lots of kisses to make up for my poor hurt feelings.” He pouted at her. “Treatment may take years, even decades.”

Snorting, Hermione allowed herself to be reeled back in for a kiss that started out amused and quickly turned amorous. All of her senses became focused on Harry, each second deepening her desire as her body throbbed in tune to his, racing towards a shared crescendo. Moaning, she dug her fingers into his back and widened her mouth for the sweep of his tongue. Harry growled and kissed her with fevered passion. She felt like the most desirable woman alive.

As Harry kissed down her neck in a move that sent fireworks exploding through her body, her stomach gave out a loud gurgle, paused for a second, and gurgled again. 

They both looked down at her middle. 

“Sorry,” Hermione laughed. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

Harry shrugged with a quick smile. “I’m surprised my stomach isn’t growling too. All I’ve had since arriving yesterday to find you missing are nutrient potions. In fact, the only sleep I’ve had since you ran off to fight those kappa is when I passed out from too-much travel and when a sneaky mediwitch potioned me sometime last night or early this morning.”

Hermione frowned at him, yawned, and then shook her head. “Now you’ve made me remember that I’m tired too. Everything is catching up to me. I haven’t slept well since you left all those months ago and then with fighting the kappa, waking up as a Sentinel, the revelations about what had been done to me, and then getting kidnapped—though admittedly I was treated well and helped to escape so don’t let your imagination get you in a strop—I think I’m just worn out.”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” Harry took her hands and swung them between their bodies. “Do you want to go inside? As beautiful as it looks, you’re probably chilly in that dress. I could make us a snack, send a note to let everyone know you’re safe since I don’t trust that idiot Cormac to remember to do it, and then we could nap. Together.” 

Harry lifted their linked hands and kissed them. He seemed to be doing that a lot. She liked it, each kiss sending a little zip of pleasure flying to her heart like an owlpost.

Squeezing his fingers, Hermione sighed. “That sounds lovely.” She tilted her head to the side and bit her lip thoughtfully. “But since I have a feeling I’m going to crash pretty fast once I’m sitting down inside, is there anything else important or awkward you need to discuss that can’t wait? Because if so, speak now while I have the autumn breeze to keep me awake and somewhat coherent.” She flashed him a smile and tried not to shiver as the wind kicked up at her words, cutting through her tulle dress like it wasn’t even there. 

“Awkward?” Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Not unless you want to revisit that marriage proposal.” Chuckling in a self-deprecating way, he released one of her hands and took a step towards her front door. 

Mind reeling, Hermione found her feet frozen in place. Their clasped arms went taunt and stretched out between them, jerking Harry to a stop. 

“Hermione?” he looked over his shoulder at her, worry furrowing his brow.

“You proposed to me?” she asked in a high-pitched voice, then gasped. “You did! And I—oh my goodness, oh my goodness! I brushed you off and really hurt your feelings. I’m the worst!” She tried to pull away but Harry wouldn’t let her go, tightening his grip.

Stepping close, Harry pressed her clenched fist to his chest. “Breathe, Hermione. It wasn’t you, it was the spell. I know that now.” He gave a crooked smile. “I love you and you love me. That’s what’s important today. Marriage is probably too much to ask of you on top of everything else new you’re dealing with, but I’d love to at least make us official and start dating.” He dropped a kiss on her knuckles. “Please be my girlfriend and make me the happiest man alive.” He smiled into her eyes and tilted his head enticingly with a coaxing, “Say yes and let me take you inside. I’ll feed you a stack of toast.”

Still feeling wobbly, trying to catch her breath, Hermione latched onto the end of his sentence while her mind calculated possibilities in the background. “I’ve always wanted to ask, what’s with your obsession with stacks of toast?”

Brows arching, Harry looked off into the distance. “I suppose it wasn’t anything big to you, but, well,” he blushed and gave a soft laugh. “I fell in love with you over a stack of toast.” 

Hermione blinked at him. “Really? When?” 

“In fourth year, after my name came out of the Goblet of Fire, I spent the night tossing and turning, bracing myself for a day of anxious misery, only to come out of the portrait hole and find you waiting for me in the hall.” He sent her a sideways, crooked smile. “We shared a walk and a stack of toast, where I told you everything and you accepted my story without question. I felt so relieved. I looked into your luminous brown eyes and the way the sunlight glinted off the honey in your curls and had this realization that I could look at you forever. The wind kicked up, tossing your curls over your face and making you laugh, and I knew it wasn’t just your looks. It was all of you inside and out. I realized that I loved you, that I would always love you, and that I knew I could trust you with everything and you would never abandon me or let me down. I knew I wanted to be with you forever and stay as close as I could get.” Harry shrugged. “Then of course everything got crazy and you seemed more keen on being romantic with Krum or making Ron jealous than ever kissing me, so I tried to push it down and content myself with your friendship.” 

“Oh, Harry.” She bit her lip. “Fourth year is when Dumbledore spelled me. I’m so sorry. Sorry for both of us.”

“I’ll wait for however long you need. I’ll respect whatever you choose. But just to be clear,” planting his feet and squaring his shoulders, Harry’s eyes practically sparked from the magic he was inadvertently pulling from the leyline, “I want everything with you.” He blew out a slow breath and forced his body into a friendlier and less battle-ready posture. “Though for now, I’ll be quite content with dating you, if you’ll have me. So, toast?” He tilted his head towards the house. 

Pressing her lips together, Hermione inhaled slowly through her nose, pulling on the magic beneath her feet to steady her nerves, not caring that her eyes must be sparking too. She exhaled just as slowly before carefully speaking. “Harry, you know I love your cooking and I will happily be your girlfriend if that’s what you want,” Harry’s lips curved up, “but to be perfectly honest,” his grin faltered so she sped up her delivery, “I’d rather not waste anymore time. For my part, I’d rather just jump past all that by calling the last few years of daily contact and eating together more often than not casual dating, enter into a magical marriage with you post haste, bond with you Sentinel to Guide and soul to soul, and never sleep without you by my side for the rest of my life.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked breathlessly, pressing close, eyes filled with dawning joy.

“Yes.” She nodded firmly and beamed at him. “I want everything with you and I don’t want to wait. I’m sure we can find someone on short notice to do the magical binding and I know neither of us ever wanted a big wedding.”

Laughing, Harry picked her up and spun her around with a whoop. Hermione laughed too, so happy to be with Harry on the same page at last. “I love you,” she said, cupping his face in her hands and pressing their lips together. Kissing her back eagerly, Harry let her body slide down his front, their heads slowly tilting down, lips joined, souls touching, until her toes touched the ground and the power of the leyline erupted through her body like a fountain. Hermione had never been happier or felt more alive. She wished they could fuse into one being and feel like this forever. 

Harry kissed up her cheek, across each eye, and to the curls in front of her ears. “Yes to everything, Hermione. Yes. All I am is yours.” Meeting her eyes, all his shields down to show the brilliant gleam of his heart and soul, Harry threaded his fingers with hers. “Yes.”

Making herself equally vulnerable, reaching out to engulf him with all of her enhanced senses, opening her magical core and baring herself mind and soul, Hermione nodded. “Yes, I feel that way too. I want that too. Let me be your mirror and forever see yourself only with the eyes of love.” Tears dripped from her eyes, turning her vision watery as her emotions proved to be too powerful to contain.

“As long as I’m looking at you, love will never leave my heart.” Eyes equally watery, Harry leaned forward and joined their lips in a kiss that echoed in the braiding of their hearts, making her aware of Harry’s magic curling around and through her own, her warp to his weft, as they wove a shared tapestry that would bind them for the rest of their lives. Hermione’s reality shifted. Legs going weak, knowing somehow that Harry felt exactly the same, they fell to their knees, clutching each other and managing to stay upright.

“Oh.” Harry gave a shaky laugh, his warm breath ticking across her face. “Wow.”

“Yeah, wow is right.” She tilted her head. “Not that I mind, but I was led to believe that creating a magical marriage was a lot more complicated than that.”

“Me too.” He gave a slow, deeply satisfied smile, eyes going heavy lidded. “Wife.”

Hermione’s shiver had nothing to do with the wind and everything to do with the look in Harry’s eyes and the feelings he was projecting into her mind. Well, two could play that game. His Guide gifts were going to be fun to explore later, but for now, she had other priorities.

Leaning forward, she licked across his bottom lip and pulled back teasingly before he could succeed in deepening the kiss. “Maybe I’m not that tired after all, though I am quite hungry.” She flicked her eyes up and down his body to make it clear what hunger she was interested in satisfying. “What do you say to going inside and letting me glut my physical senses on your body to cement that Sentinel and Guide bond too... before I lose all sense of modesty and strip you down out here on the lawn.” Running her nose down his neck, nipping at a tendon before inhaling deeply at how that made his scent go sharp and piquant, she felt almost drunk. “Please,” she slid her fingers down to the open v of his shirt and let her fingers dip beneath the fabric, “husband,” she rolled the syllables off her tongue.

Harry gave a full-body shiver. “My wife is definitely the brightest witch in Britain. That’s a great plan.” Surging to his feet, he pulled her upright. “I'd even go so far as to call it glorious.”

With a toothy smile he tossed her over his shoulder, ignored her squawk of outrage, and ran with her to the door. Harry jiggled the latch just once before leaning back, casting a ward busting spell on his foot—something she’d never seen done before—and kicking the door down. 

Gasping for breath through her giggles, Hermione punched him on the back. “You broke my door! Why didn’t you let me cast the spell to unlock it? Or do it yourself? You’re keyed for entry too!”

“I forgot,” Harry said sheepishly, putting her down inside the house and using magic to lift the door back into place and haphazardly repair the damage to the splintered wood. He cast a quick cleaning charm on the hall and living room and started a fire in the hearth. She probably needed a new door and the wards would have to be reapplied from scratch, but right now she didn’t have the patience for it. 

Neither did Harry, whose breath panted from his lips as he stalked her down the hall. “Now, where was I?”

Pressing her against the wall, Harry growled when instead of playing demure she slid her hands over his shoulders and hitched herself up by winding a leg around his upper thigh. Excitement shivered down her spine at the look on his face. Not disappointing, Harry ravaged her mouth with kisses that set fire to her blood. She’d never felt so powerful and desired, never felt so loved. With no autumn breeze to cool her down, Hermione felt sweat spring up between her shoulder blades and drip down her back in mimicry of Harry’s caressing fingers. It made her eager to taste the sweat she could smell beading on Harry’s skin, eager to trace her tongue over the muscles clenching beneath her fingers and follow them down the long lines of his body until she’d memorized all of him and he whined and gasped, overcome with pleasure.

Distantly she heard the whoosh of an opening Floo connection. “Hermione? Oh thank the Founders you’re safe.” She recognized Minerva’s voice but didn’t have the self-control to remove her lips from Harry’s. “I see Harry found you and you’ve wasted no time reconnecting,” she said dryly.

Hermione lifted a hand to wave at Minerva reassuringly, but otherwise didn’t speak, her mouth too busy with much more important things than talking.

“Very well, I can see I’m not wanted. Congratulations to you two. Call me when you’re thinking clearly again and not so distracted.” Chuckling, McGonagall closed the connection.

Taking Hermione’s lip in his teeth, Harry gently scraped it taunt and then sucked hard on the sensitized flesh, making her writhe against the wall and eliciting a deep, guttural moan that she was grateful Minerva was no longer around to hear.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Harry praised, teasing her with soft kitten licks across her jaw before nibbling up her earlobe and doing something that made her eyes cross and her chest heave for air. Harry was panting too, but somehow still verbal. “Yeah, you’re gorgeous, just like that.”

Not fair. Hermione’s competitive streak reared its head. Obviously she wasn’t working hard enough. She dragged her nails down Harry’s back, from nape to tailbone, making him jerk, shiver, and moan loud enough to wake the upstairs neighbors, if she’d had any. Smirking, she explored the feel of his delightfully pert behind before lifting her fingers to stroke teasingly back and forth just above his belt, dipping beneath with only a fingertip before walking back up his spine.

“To be honest,” Harry said, breathless but still verbal, darn it, though his body had started to rock with the rhythm of her stroking fingers, sending little sparks to her core on each forward thrust, “I thought I’d have to wait a lot longer before we started anything.”

Dropping her leg and shoving Harry, Hermione walked his stumbling form backwards off the hardwood in the hall and onto the plush rug in the center of the living room. Casting a cushioning charm at the rug, she then tossed her wand onto the side table. 

“Oh Harry, I haven’t started anything. This is me starting.” And with that, she ripped off his shirt, sending buttons bouncing onto the hardwood floor with a satisfying series of  _ pings _ , yanked her dress over her head and flung it away carelessly to land over the nearest lamp, and jumped him, riding his body down onto the charmed rug with his enthusiastic participation. 

At some point—after Hermione had run eyes, hands, and mouth several times over every inch of Harry’s delectable body and she’d forgotten how to breathe without smelling and tasting the mix of their scents—they bonded their souls as Sentinel and Guide, wrapping each other in protective mental shields and imprinting bodies and minds. It made their next bout of lovemaking even better, and the next one—after a quick break to gulp down nutrient potions and scourgify the furniture and rugs—better still. 

Deliriously happy with each other and their current fate, deliciously exhausted, they decided to be mature and finally move things to the bedroom. They woozily promised they’d just sleep, stumbling down the hall and joking about passing out the second they got horizontal. 

They lied.

They lied several more times.

Then they stopped lying and just focused on enjoying their marathon of bonding interspersed with cuddling and cozy confessions.

There never was any napping done that day, though they did share a stack of toast—eventually.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Thank you so much for reading! I’ve spent so many hours writing and plotting this story and have lived for your comments. Thank you to the many who have supported me and sent me awesome comments along the way! I loved seeing what you liked, what got you upset, and what you wanted to do to Dumbledore, lol. I also appreciate those commenters who may not have liked something but only mentioned it if they were willing to explain why politely and had something helpful and constructive to say. 
> 
> This next paragraph might never reach the ears of those who need to hear it because they’re hopefully gone, but I’m tired from staying up with a sick child all night and am going to stop biting my tongue. To the anonymous commenters/trolls (who hopefully never get to enjoy this last chapter) who thought insulting me harshly and being rude would make me change or speed up my plot to suit their personal needs, this is a reminder that sarcasm (if that’s what you call it) never translates over text, that writers are just people doing their best toiling for hours and months on end for no money to entertain you, and that if you don’t like something you can just leave instead of ruining someone’s day by leaving a cruel or threatening comment, much less multiple mean comments on successive chapters. It is completely unnecessary. I deleted a few comments that were pure hate, but left some others because I got sick of going through them for a second time. I try to have a tough skin and shrug things off, but it hurts to have my hard work spit on. It’s discouraging. And it’s unfair to the other people who are enjoying my flawed work. It makes me less inclined to share my vulnerabilities and private thoughts through my writing. I don’t have to write these stories and share them with you. I often watch them like movies in my head as I fall asleep and only write down a fraction of my ideas. Don’t get me wrong, I love writing and I love sharing stories with readers, I love seeing if you can feel like I do for these characters or if you find something new, but sharing is about respect. Not everyone will like me or my writing. That’s okay. I’m not perfect, I am very much aware. You don’t have to like me, but I deserve respect for trying. I deserve respect, period. So do all of you. There’s too much hate in this world. Don’t we come to a fandom because of love? Excitement? Pleasure? Don’t we form communities to build each other up instead of tear each other down? I guess I just want us all to try harder to be kinder and better to each other. To love more.
> 
> Phew, okay, I hope I don’t regret that once I get some sleep.
> 
> Anyway, moving on, I hope the reunion was worth the wait for you. I tried to give you a big payoff. As you can see from the outlines (those who cared to look at them), I always intended to have them back together only at the very end. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who followed me over from Rough Trade. Sorry/not sorry I blew completely past the word limits for the challenge. Writing short plots is a skill I’m working on with mixed success. 
> 
> My 6 year old daughter woke up with a cough and sore throat last night, but I’m hoping it’s just a cold. She’s perky otherwise and just ate 2 waffles with chocolate syrup, so I’m thinking/praying it's just a regular cold and not the thing. My throat is a bit sore too but I’m choosing to believe it is allergies since my eyes have also been itching like crazy. This year sucks and let’s not even get into the trash fire of that US Presidential debate last night. Sigh.
> 
> Anyway, for my next story, I’m probably going to stay with HP and the Harmony pairing. I’m wavering between a dark, tense, and sexy sequel to “A Velvet Goodbye” exploring wild magic, magical batteries, being reshaped by torture, and a Dom/sub romance (no explicit sex because it’s me) OR a hopefully not too long story about Slytherin(?) Harry confused by Gryffindor Hermione Granger who has a strange affinity for snakes and curls that whisper to Harry when he sits behind her in class. I only have super rough outlines for both. Any interest, preference, or thoughts?
> 
> I’ve also been thinking about trying a beta again if anyone is willing, but I need someone with experience editing, ability to help improve my pacing issues, understanding that I might not always take their suggestions, and a reasonably fast turn around. If anyone is interested, I would be very grateful if you’d please let me know. When my household is healthy again, hopefully I can start writing something new.
> 
> Thanks again to all of you. I really do appreciate you going on this journey with me. Please let me know if you enjoyed the story and what you thought of the ending. Bonus points for specific lines or scenes that made you smile, laugh, or tear up. I really really appreciate comments. Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are desperately desired :D. I have 6 chapters/ 22K written of this so far and everything is plotted until the end. I'll update chapters as I edit or write them. I've gotten back into Asian dramas lately, so it's distracting me, I have to admit. I've stuck to Korean dramas so far but I'd like to watch some Japanese dramas soon. I've watched "Faith/The Great Doctor," "What's going on with Secretary Kim," "Goblin/Guardian: The great and lonely god," and "Heirs." Recommendations are very welcome.


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